Into the East
by CardinalPerch
Summary: When Ambassador Prentiss runs into trouble at her new posting, Emily risks everything in a desperate effort to save her. On her way, she gets help from her BAU family and confronts questions about her own mortality and her complicated and broken relationship with her mother. Prentiss-centric, but features whole team. Some mild language and violence. Rated T just to be safe.
1. Breaking News

_Author's Note: So, it's been a rather long time since I've written, thanks to a vicious combination of school, work, and writer's block. I started writing this story a few times only to scrap it in frustration, but I think I finally have a good idea of where I want it to go. It takes place sometime in late Season 8 or early Season 9 of CM, but it does not contain spoilers or cannon past the introduction of Agent Blake in the first episode of Season 8. Readers can freely regard or disregard the events of Seasons 8 and 9 as they so please. Obviously I do not own nor am I affiliated with Criminal Minds or any of its characters. While I took some of the general ideas for the plot from real-life historical events, all of the names and events in this story are entirely fictional. _

_This story is a long fic. I will post the second chapter almost immediately as it was originally part of a long first chapter and is nearly done. After that I will update as often as my schedule permits. As with my other stories, it centers around Prentiss, but very heavily involves the rest of the BAU team and also prominently features Clyde Easter and Ambassador Prentiss. Hope you enjoy!_

The annoyingly persistent London rain pounded on the office window as Emily set her raincoat on the rack by the door. The sky outside was still black, intermingled with the omnipresent orange and white glow of the city's lights. The pounding of the pellets on the pane filled the silence of the cavernous office. Usually Emily liked her office. It was comfortably large – at least two or three times the size of the Strauss occupied at the BAU. But on mornings like this, when she came into the office hours before anyone other than the night guard and a few staff were present, it felt a bit empty and foreboding.

Although Emily worked long hours since taking charge of INTERPOL's London office – often longer hours than she had worked at the BAU – she rarely came in this early. The handsome wood clock on her desk, a parting gift from Rossi, showed that the hour was just past four in the morning. Yet Emily had had difficulty sleeping that night, and decided around three to give it up as a bad job and get some work done. She rationalized that she could always leave early if she got enough done, knowing in the back of her mind that she'd do no such thing. Though she didn't want to admit, Emily, always a hard worker, had become a Hotch-like workaholic. She supposed it just came with the territory of being in charge.

After clicking on her desk lamp, Emily settled into her leather office chair and began reviewing the stack of memorandums, intelligence reports and various assistance requests left on her desk from the night before. Wishing to break the monotony of the heavy silence, she grabbed a remote from her desk drawer and flipped on small flat-screen television mounted in the corner of the office. The clipped, polished voice of a forty-ish BBC News anchor emanated from the speakers just loud enough for Emily to make out but not so loud as to distract her from her work. She barely registered the anchor's report on the Scottish independence referendum as she began scrutinizing reports on possible terrorist sleeper cells in Western and Central Europe.

Yet the anchor's next report ripped Emily's attention from her work to the television.

"And Breaking News out of Egypt, where BBC correspondent Oliver Mansfield reports that protestors have surrounded the American Embassy in Cairo. Some of the protestors are believed to be armed and potentially dangerous. The Egyptian Army has been blocked by street barricades and is having tremendous difficulty taming the situation. We go now to Oliver Mansfield, live in Cairo."

Emily tuned out the voice of the ground reporter. She was too captivated by the images projecting across the screen. The American embassy was surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands of people, some watching with interest or alarm, but others screaming and yelling, faces contorted with rage. A few were throwing plastic bottles and other debris at the Embassy walls and the few Egyptian police on the scene. Some others were wielding automatic weapons, though thankfully they seemed to content to fire them in the air at the moment.

The voice of Oliver Mansfield broke back into Emily's consciousness.

"Sources indicate that there are no known casualties at this point and that the Embassy itself has not been breached. However, given the 1979 Iranian Hostage crisis and the more recent catastrophe at the U.S. Embassy in Libya, there is of course concern for the safety of those inside, including the new American Ambassador…"

Emily clicked off the television. She didn't need to hear the name of the ambassador. The new United States Ambassador to Egypt was Elizabeth Prentiss.

Emily scrambled to her desk, grabbed her phone, and immediately dialed Clyde Easter. A groggy voice answered.

"Bloody Hell, Em. Do you have any idea what time it is? I hope this is an emergency."

"Turn on the news." Emily answered curtly.

"What? Why?"

"Just turn it on," she insisted.

"Alright, alright," came Clyde's grudging reply.

After a few moments of silence, Emily heard Clyde's voice again, but this time she could tell he was alert.

"Good God. Em, isn't that where your mother's posted?"

"You need to get me down there right now," Emily demanded.

"What? Why? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to help get her out," she answered matter-of-factly.

"You can't possibly be serious," Clyde answered. "Are you even watching this? It's insane. Besides, I'm sure there's a load of military and private security in that building with your mother."

"Yeah, and how'd that work out in Benghazi?" Emily retorted.

"What are you going to do, Emily?" Clyde burst out incredulously. "At best it will take hours to get you down there and there are hundreds of armed people outside that building. How exactly do you intend on getting in, much less getting out?"

"I was an undercover agent for years Clyde," she reminded him. "I know how to get in and out of places."

"Yeah, in multi-year operations Europe and the States. This is just a bit different, don't you think?" he retorted sarcastically.

"I grew up in the mid-East and I speak Arabic. I can figure it out as I get there Clyde."

Silence greeted this point.

"Look," Emily pressed, sensing her chance. "I am not going to sit in this office and drink coffee and fill out reports while I watch my mother die on television. You and I both know I'm going to try and get down there using every connection I have, whether you approve it or not. You can fire me if you want, but you and I both know you aren't going to do that because I'm the only person you want doing this job. You and I also both know that I have a hell of a lot better chance of pulling something off, or at least getting out of there in one piece, if you help me. So I'd really appreciate you backing me up on this."

The reluctant pause on the other end told Emily she was close to getting what she wanted.

"Emily, the last time you tried to run an operation on the fly you almost died," he said, almost begging, or at least as close as a proud man like Clyde Easter got to begging. Emily knew he was desperate at this point, he normally avoided so much as hinting about Doyle when he was around her.

"But I didn't," she reminded him. "And I didn't let you help me then. That was a mistake, I'm asking for your help now."

More silence.

"Alright, I'll get you on a flight out as soon as possible. I've got contacts in British Secret Intelligence Service who can get you there quicker. Get everything you need and expect to leave in an hour."

"Thank you, Clyde," she replied gratefully.

"There's one condition, Em," he interjected.

"What?"

"We have an agent in Italy. Victor Polizzi. He's half Egyptian. His father was an Italian oil man who met his mother in the Middle East. He's got experience working in the region. I want you to rendezvous with him in Rome and have him travel the rest of the way to Cairo with you."

"Clyde, I don't want any outsiders involved. This is just for me."

"He's not an outsider, Em," Clyde interrupted impatiently. "He's one of us. Look, I know you don't like to trust anymore people than you have to. I don't either. But I trust this man, and he knows what he's doing. I'm not telling you to take him into the Embassy with you. Just let him help you."

Emily hesitated, but didn't see anyway out of it. Plus, she didn't exactly have a plan of action and it couldn't hurt to have somebody to bounce ideas off of.

"Fine, as long as he's not going in with me. I don't want anybody else to get hurt."

"Neither do I," Clyde agreed. "Plus, the less he's exposed to getting caught, the better. Nobody can ever know that INTERPOL was involved in this. If you get caught, you're on your own."

"Of course," Emily agreed. She knew this was the type of escapade that could never be officially sanctioned.

"Alright," Clyde said. Emily could tell he was still deeply opposed to the idea, but finally resigned. "I'll talk to my contacts and get back to you. And don't say anything to anyone at the office. I'll tell them you're ill and I'm taking care of things for a few days."

"Thank you Clyde."

"Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise."

Barely an hour later, Emily Prentiss was on board a private jet bound for Rome the onward to Cairo.

_I hope you enjoyed, or were at least intrigued. We will see the rest of our beloved BAU family in Chapter 2, appearing soon. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated!_


	2. Have you lost your goddamn mind?

_Author's Note: Chapter 3 is already underway, but it might take a bit to finish. Meanwhile, here is the promised Chapter 2. It's a bit longer than the last. This and Chapter 3 will be fairly dialogue-heavy just to set things up for more action later. I hope you enjoy! _

Mere hours after leaving for the night, the team was huddled once again around the conference table at the BAU offices in Quantico. The five agents each held their packed go-bags at the ready, awaiting only the arrival of Hotch and a briefing from Garcia before undoubtedly heading out to chase yet another serial criminal. Their expectations were dashed upon Hotch's entry.

"Go-bags won't be necessary," Hotch said as he strode into the room. "We're working from here tonight."

"What's up?" Derek asked, slightly perplexed.

"There's a situation at the U.S. Embassy in Cairo," Hotch answered. "A partially-armed and hostile mob has surrounded the Embassy and the State Department is having difficulty communicating consistently with personnel on the ground there. They want us to survey footage of the mob to see if any of the crowd displays traits of organized terrorist violence or if it's just an angry mob psychology spiraled out of control. They also want us to survey the crowd to find potential leaders and instigators and assess the likelihood of an imminent attack on the Embassy."

"Why do they want us?" Rossi asked. "We specialize in profiling individuals and occasionally small groups. We don't profile mobs, that's practically impossible anyway."

"Not exactly true," Reid said in the excitedly hurried tone he used when reciting facts. "While it's certainly difficult if not impossible to profile an entire crowd, a lot can be learned if you can identify and study the behavior of individual instigators and leaders. Not entirely unlike a cult."

"Yeah, but still, I don't get why State is asking us," JJ interjected. "When I worked there it was pretty clear they preferred to keep things in-house whenever possible. And when they had to consult with others, they tended to go with the CIA."

"It's my understanding that the CIA, NSA, and various other agencies are evaluating this as well," Hotch replied. "But the State Department wants as much input on this as possible. The last thing they want is another Benghazi. We just need to do the best we can with what we have to work with. Garcia will fill us in."

The team shifted their attention to the bubbly blonde technical analyst who managed to sneak into the room behind Hotch. Garcia flicked her remote at the giant screen next to the conference table. On one corner of the screen was a picture of the U.S. Embassy in Cairo, a series of square concrete and glass buildings behind a wall that looked to be about ten feet tall. In another corner was what appeared to be news footage of a large and violent crowd surrounding the embassy.

"So, it seems that a few hours ago, a crowd started gathering outside the Embassy in Cairo," Garcia proceeded. "At first the State Department thought is would be a relatively small and harmless crowd protesting some controversial remarks by an American professor speaking a few days ago at the American University in Cairo, but the gathering escalated quickly into what we're seeing here."

"There are a few armed U.S. military personnel and contractors within the compound placed there after the Benghazi attack, but obviously not enough to repel this," Garcia continued. "Not surprisingly, they're worried about the safety of the staff and the new ambass…Oh, God." Garcia ended abruptly, staring down at the notes on her tablet.

"Garcia, what is it," Hotch asked.

"Um. Well…it appears," Garcia answered in a tone of faint shock. "Sir, it appears that the new ambassador to Egypt is Elizabeth Prentiss."

Her remark was met with stunned silence from all but Blake.

"Wait, Prentiss?" she commented. "Wasn't an Agent Prentiss my predecessor here? Any relation?"

"Ambassador Prentiss is Agent Prentiss's mother," Hotch answered with a worried sigh.

"Though they don't exactly get along famously," Rossi added.

"I'm calling Emily," JJ stated hurriedly, whipping her iPhone from her jacket pocket before anyone else thought to grab their own. The team watched in grave anticipation as JJ waited for an answer. None were relieved by the vigorous shaking of her head a few seconds later.

"Straight to voice mail," JJ answered dejectedly.

"Maybe she's travelling," Reid said hopefully.

"Garcia, put a call through to her office," Hotch demanded, indicating the speakerphone in the middle of the conference table with a nod of his head.

"Hotch, it's like five in the morning over there," Derek pointed out. "She's not going to be at work."

"Well, we need to get a hold of her somehow," Hotch replied. "Garcia, try it."

The team again huddled in anticipation as the listened to the sounds of the phone trying to connect to an office half a world away. A familiar voice answered. To their dismay, it wasn't Prentiss.

"The BAU? To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Hotchner?" Clyde Easter answered.

"Easter?" Derek interrupted. "Where's Emily?"

"Ah, Agent Morgan I think," Easter answered, voice cracking slightly over the sound of the speaker. "Chief Prentiss is away on an emergency call."

"Would that call have anything to do with her mother?" Derek demanded.

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information, Agent Morgan," Easter answered calmly.

Morgan stood up and leaned in to the speakerphone. It appeared he was about to divulge quite a bit in Clyde Easter's ear hole when Hotch stuck out his hand, silently warning Morgan to keep quiet.

"Clyde, this is Aaron Hotchner," Hotch said calmly but firmly into the speaker. "We know about the situation in Cairo. The State Department has asked for our help. I appreciate the delicacy of this situation, but I just want to make sure that Emily is informed and is alright."

After a slight hesitation, Clyde gave in.

"She's on her way to Cairo now," he answered resignedly.

Looks of horror crossed the faces of the team, though only Blake looked entirely shocked. As much as the others dreaded the news, they knew Emily too well to be entirely surprised.

"Are you insane?" Derek asked angrily. "You can't let her go into that, she might be killed."

"Well it wasn't exactly my first choice," Easter answered defensively. "But if you have any good ideas for stopping that woman when she's hell-bent on something, do let me know. I've been trying on and off for ten years. She was going down to Cairo with or without my approval, so I might as well give her some help."

As much as he didn't like it, Derek had to admit Easter had a point. Emily was the most stubborn person he knew, which was saying something considering Derek knew himself and Hotch pretty darn well. She also had the smarts and connections to get just about anywhere she wanted to go, with or without authorization.

"Can you put us through to her?" Hotch asked Easter.

"Not really," Easter answered. "She's on a British SIS plane, only minimal communication is permitted, and I'm already cashing in on quite a bit of good will with them."

"Look, I'm not authorized to speak with her about this either," Hotch reasoned. "Headquarters will have me off this team in a second if they found out I was speaking to another agency about this and didn't disclose it. But a few years ago you broke your oath to save her life. Let me do the same. We have access to some U.S. communication channels and classified information that can help her."

Another long pause.

"Alright," Clyde answered at last. "I can put you straight through to her on the plane. Just keep it brief please. If SIS thinks too many people are getting involved, they may stop cooperating and this whole operation will collapse."

"We will," Hotch promised. "Thank you."

"It will take a moment to put you through," Easter replied. "Hold on."

Static and a strange, almost robotic clicking sound came over the speaker. The team waited with baited breath for an answer. In a plane cruising thousands of miles above Germany, a phone began buzzing.

"Prentiss," came the answer at last.

Hotch prepared to speak, but was abruptly preempted by Morgan.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?" he asked loudly.

"Morgan?" Emily replied perplexed. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I should ask you the same question," he responded angrily. "What are you thinking, heading off straight into a war zone on a whim? Are you _trying _to get yourself killed?"

"Morgan, can you just shut up for two seconds?" JJ interjected, staring daggers at him from across the table. Morgan clenched his jaw and returned the stare, but didn't say another word.

"Emily, it's JJ," the blonde stated calmly.

"Jayje, what's going on?" Emily asked.

"Look, Emily we know all about Cairo and your mom already. The State Department has all hands on deck, they've got us looking at footage from the ground trying to spot and profile the leaders as well as we can."

"What have you got so far?" Emily asked, alarmingly business-like, as she settled into a chair on the plane and prepared to take notes.

"Nothing yet," Rossi cut-in. "We just got called in. As soon as we found out your mother was there we tried to call you. Easter transferred us through. Emily, what exactly are you planning?"

"Well, quite frankly I'm kind of stringing the details together as I go," Emily admitted. "But essentially I need to find a way to infiltrate the Embassy, obviously under some sort of disguise or cover. Once in I'll find my mother and either try and smuggle her out some how, or, if that's not possible find or create the best possible hiding spot and wait until either the riot blows over or the Egyptian Army finally breaks it up."

"So basically suicide," Morgan re-inserted himself into the conversation.

"Morgan, what exactly would you have me do?" Emily retorted angrily. "Don't expect me to believe for one second that you wouldn't try anything for your mother."

"Because my mom actually gave a damn about me," Morgan spat.

"Morgan!" Hotch warned icily. The other sat in stunned silence. Reid was wide-eyed. Blake raised her eyebrows and stared at the ground. Rossi looked disappointed. Garcia looked ready to cry. JJ looked ready to murder.

With the phone still pressed to her ear, Emily closed her eyes and sighed softly. Her relationship with her mother had gone from incredibly rocky to barely existent in recent years. But Emily still had her own very good reasons to risk everything for just a chance to rebuild that relationship. Derek Morgan be damned.

"Well, fortunately you aren't in charge of deciding whose mother is worth saving and whose isn't," she replied in a slow, measured, and angry tone that barely masked simmering rage and enormous hurt.

Morgan, himself still seething with anger but also now slightly wracked with guilt, folded his hands on top of his head. Desperate to get things back on track before Emily could hang up, Hotch quickly changed the subject.

"Prentiss," he asked somewhat softly, "can you get any help whatsoever?"

"I'll be landing outside Rome in less than an hour," she responded. "I'm going to rendezvous there with an Agent Polizzi from INTERPOL. His mother is Egyptian. He's fluent in Arabic spent a lot of his childhood there and throughout the Middle East. Not entirely unlike me." Emily added this last statement as a thinly veiled stab at Morgan, to remind him that she wasn't exactly a helpless damsel dealing with things she didn't understand.

"Do you trust this man," Hotch asked earnestly?

"I don't know him," Emily admitted. "But Easter trusts him, and I trust Easter. We might have some more limited help on the ground once we get to Cairo. INTERPOL and SIS have some contacts there. "

"Good. Let us help you, too," Hotch insisted. "We have access to all of the government information and should be able to communicate with security forces on the ground, at least for now."

"Thanks, Hotch," she answered sincerely. "I appreciate it, I'll take all I can get. Just don't get caught."

"We won't," he assured her.

"Agent Prentiss," Blake asked suddenly. "You said you're fluent in Arabic?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Agent Alex Blake, I joined the BAU after you took the INTERPOL job."

"Oh, right," Emily answered. "Sorry we have to meet like this."

"Yeah, so am I," Blake replied. "I want to run some analysis of the slogans and language used on the signs of the protestors as well as by the protest leaders to see if it fits with typical spontaneous language or if it seems more planned and organized. If you get a chance to analyze any footage before you land in Cairo, would you forward me as many translations as you can of what you think is relevant speech? It would be faster than waiting on Bureau translators."

"I'll get what I can. Thank you," Emily answered. Just then, an SIS officer, dressed in business clothes to fit his assigned cover as a minor British diplomat, interrupted her.

"Chief Prentiss," he interjected courteously. "I don't mean to interrupt, but we're beginning our descent into Italy momentarily. Agent Polizzi will meet us right away so we can get back in the air as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Emily answered politely. "Hotch, I need to go. I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can once I'm on the ground so we can set up communications before I leave for Cairo."

"Alright, we'll start getting up to speed on the situation and see if we can get a line into the Embassy."

"Alright, but Hotch. Don't tell them I'm coming. If it looks like I'm being helped or allowed into the Embassy, I might be ripped apart by the crowd before I can get over the wall. Besides, the last thing I want is for them to accidentally let in a suicide bomber thinking it might be me."

"Got it," Hotch answered. "And Prentiss, I know you don't take orders from me anymore, but be careful."

"I will Hotch. And I can't thank you enough, I know you're taking a huge risk here."

"I know it's nothing you wouldn't do for us," Hotch answered truthfully. Considering that Prentiss had nearly gone to her death to protect them a few years ago, risking a suspension or, at most, termination seemed relatively tame.

"I have to go," Emily said. "I'll be in touch soon."

"Alright, goodbye."

After hanging up the phone, Emily took a seat near the window of the empty passenger cabin of the plane and secured her seat belt. Out the window, she saw the Italian peninsula come into view through the clouds. She took in as much as she could, knowing that this was one of the last views of sanity she would see before meeting Victor Polizzi and plunging headfirst into chaos.

On the other side of the world, her old unit chief was determined to help her navigate the chaos as much as possible.

"Alright everyone," Hotch said, assuming the familiar tone of command. "Let's get to work."

_That's it for now. We'll see more of the entire gang in the next chapter before we get into the action in Cairo. As always, comments/suggestions are appreciated._


	3. She's going to die!

_Author's Note: Wow! I certainly appreciate the reviews and the interest in this story so far. Like I said earlier, it's my first one in awhile and I also know it's different from the CM mold, so the feedback is very encouraging._

_This chapter is easily the longest so far. I debated breaking it up into two, but decided on one longer one to finally get all of the groundwork out of the way and get us (FINALLY) straight into the action in the next chapter. Also, I'm hoping that a longer chapter will earn me some forgiveness if there is a SLIGHT delay in my next posting. I'm trying to post a chapter every few days, but I have a busy week coming up so it might be a tad longer. I promise to get it up as soon as possible. _

_This is, again, very dialogue heavy with both internal dialogue and actual conversations. However, it will be the last such chapter for a good while, as the next chapters will jump straight into the action. There are a fair amount of CM Season 7 references, just to warn anybody who might not be there yet. Enjoy! _

Emily buried her head in her hands and rubbed furiously at her eyes as the plane continued to descend. Her sleepless night was beginning to catch up to her. But she had no time for sleep now. In half an hour, she'd be meeting with Polizzi and then the planning could begin in earnest. Plus, it was a long flight to Cairo. She might have the opportunity to catch a few winks on the way.

But the lack of sleep wasn't the only thing nagging at Emily. Morgan's comment had riled her badly.

"My mom actually gave a damn about me," he'd said.

Emily was both enraged and devastated. Enraged because Morgan had no idea what he was talking about. Emily supposed she was at least partially at fault for that. Morgan had only met Emily's mother once. (Well, twice, probably. Emily supposed they must have at least crossed paths at her "funeral.") The only other information he had about Emily's mother was the occasionally comments from Emily herself, few of which presented flattering portraits of the ambassador. But Morgan was wrong. Emily was probably Elizabeth Prentiss's biggest critic. And there were certainly many aspects about her mother that Emily found incredibly irritating: she was a politician, a careerist, stiff, uncompromising, unaffectionate, and generally lacking in warmth.

But it was not true that she didn't give a damn. Parents who didn't give a damn didn't sneak money into the accounts of their stubborn and headstrong child so that child could finish graduate school. Parents who didn't give a damn did not whisk their child around the world with them to various complicated and sometimes dangerous assignments, especially when that child often tended to be a rebellious pain-in-the-ass. Parents who didn't give a damn sent such kids to boarding school, preferably as far away as possible. Parents who didn't give a damn sure as hell didn't voluntarily move back to the States so that pain-in-the-ass kid could at least experience a couple of years of "normal" high school life (even if Emily generally did her best to pretend those couple of years didn't happen, despite Garcia's painful photographic reminders). Elizabeth Prentiss had many faults, but she did care.

But while Morgan's comment was off the mark, it did not miss completely. This is what caused the devastation in Emily. Although Emily was sure her mother cared to at least some extent, she wasn't sure she could honestly say that her mother loved her. And she wasn't sure she could say that she loved her mother. Their relationship was complicated, and as Emily grew older they seemed more like two professionals who had to occasionally deal with one another instead of mother and daughter. She could probably count the total number of hugs between them on two hands, maybe one, and they all seemed perfunctory at that. While the late-teenage, early-twenties Emily was proudly displayed at official state functions as "my daughter, the Yale honors student," the young and early-teenage Emily was either made to avoid such functions or quickly whisked away so "the adults could talk." Consequently, Emily felt like either an embarrassing secret or a trophy, and she resented her mother for it.

Things had only gotten worse after Emily was forced to fake her own death and go into hiding. She had not spoken to her mother since her re-emergence. Emily was afraid she would have to face her mother immediately, as she was the first successor left in Emily's will. But apparently JJ and some friends in the CIA managed to convince normally fool-proof ambassador that Emily had left everything to a charitable trust for crime victims, and JJ held on to Emily's property until she returned. Emily fully intended to contact her mother; she hadn't been lying when she told Hotch she would reach out. But intending to reach out and actually doing so were two entirely different matters. Emily had no idea how her mother would react. Would she be hurt? Would she be furious? Would she understand? Did she have any idea how badly Emily had been injured? How very, very close she was to _actually _dying? That the decision to fake her death had been made before it was even certain she would survive? That everything was completely out of her control?

There were too many uncertainties, and Emily was not anxious for a confrontation. So she delayed, and delayed, and delayed. The only contact she'd had with her mother had done nothing to ease the uncertainty. Both Christmases since Emily returned, Elizabeth Prentiss had sent her daughter a Christmas card. The cards were generic, unsigned, with no note. Emily had no idea what to make of this. On the one hand, it could have been an overture, a peace offering. After all, her mother had at least bothered to find out her new addresses both in D.C. and later in London. On the other, the fact that the cards were left blank could indicate anger and rejection – her mother was acknowledging her existence, but at the same time communicating an unwillingness to go any farther. Yet again, it might have just stemmed from her mother's insatiable compulsion to stand on ceremony. Emily was alive and was her daughter, so she must get a Christmas card, regardless of whether a relationship truly existed anymore. The uncertainty was more than Emily cared to deal with, so she ignored and buried herself in her work, all the while telling herself that she would talk to her mother. Someday. Eventually.

Now it looked like that someday needed to be now or never. And it was going to take a hell of a risk to even get there. That, Emily reasoned, was really what Derek's comment was about. He didn't actually believe that Emily's mother didn't care about Emily at all, but he did wonder why Emily was willing to risk everything for her. Emily knew that Morgan already thought she was reckless. She knew that the day she stayed behind to disable the bomb at the D.C. train station and save Will. The moment Morgan found out that she refused to evacuate and was nearly blown to bits because of it, he stared daggers at her and barely spoke to her the rest of the day. Emily was furious. There was absolutely no set of circumstances under which she would leave Will to certain death. She, and Morgan, and every other person on the team had all put their asses on the line for complete strangers more than once. Why wouldn't she do the same for somebody who was practically part of their BAU family?

Emily knew better than to confront Morgan about it directly, but it cemented her decision that it was time to move on. He'd already been hovering over her relentlessly after she was shot during the serial hate crime/homicide case they worked in California, even though that was entirely out of her control and ultimately resulted in only a mild shoulder injury. After the bomb scare, Morgan would be unbearable. He would never trust her fully again, at least not to keep herself safe. They'd once worked so seamlessly together. Complete trust. Almost reading each other's minds. They were Hotch's A-Team, the pair he sent in when a tough job needed to be done right. That was all gone. Hotch himself hadn't made things much easier. Emily knew he meant well, but he was constantly scrutinizing her, almost waiting for her to fall apart.

Between Morgan and Hotch, Emily didn't believe she could effectively do her job anymore. Taking risks and, if necessary, being a little bit reckless was part of her job. Ian Doyle had been wrong. Emily's life wasn't the only thing that mattered to her. Making her life meaningful was. To Emily, this meant doing her job and, when necessary, putting it on the line when others needed it. She didn't _want _to get herself killed, as Morgan seemed to think; her brief cold and dark encounter with the after-life after Doyle stabbed her had, quite frankly, scared the shit out of her. But ever since surviving Doyle, Emily felt that she was acting on borrowed time with a second chance to do something, and the only way she knew how to do that was to redouble her efforts at her job. Much like Hotch and Rossi (and, Emily thought wistfully, her mother), Emily _was _her job. If she couldn't do that job, it was time to go somewhere else.

Right now, the person who needed her to put everything on the line was her mother. Strained relationship or not. And she was going to do it. Besides, she wasn't about to repeat with her mother what had happened with her father.

…

Back at the BAU, the team leaped into action.

"Alright, Rossi and I are going to work our contacts and see if we can get in touch with people on the ground in Cairo, or at least get more intel," Hotch said.

"I'm going to talk to the translators," Blake chimed in. "If Prentiss doesn't have time to relay any translations back to me, I should at least make sure our people are started."

"Good," Hotch responded. "Reid, Morgan, JJ, you stay in the conference room and review the footage Garcia pulls up on the screen. Start seeing if you can identify the leaders and get any sort of profile."

Almost immediately after Blake, Hotch, and Rossi rushed out of the room, JJ turned on Morgan.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded fiercely.

"What the hell was what?" he shot back.

"My mother actually gave a damn about me? Really?" JJ replied. "She's headed into a danger zone, needs our help and that's your answer? Derek, I know you're protective and you have a hard time trusting her instincts because you don't want her to take risk, but this is the line of work we're in. It's the line of work _she's _in. It's who she is. You've known that for years now."

"JJ, she's going to die!" he replied violently, with equal parts anger and agony.

"Actually that might not be as probable as you think," Reid interjected. The rapidity of his voice, even faster than usual, betraying that he too was sick with worry. "Her plan isn't very likely to succeed, but it might fail for a number of reasons. The most likely reason is that she simply won't be able to fight through the crowd to actually reach the Embassy. Or she might be caught and before she gets into the riot zone at all and be arrested by Egyptian police."

"Oh, yeah. Egyptian prison. That's great Reid," Derek replied sarcastically.

"It could be a lot worse," Reid replied in a defensive, almost wounded tone. Just because he wasn't yelling or arguing didn't mean he wasn't worried. The feeling of losing Emily to Doyle hurt Reid every bit as much as it had hurt Morgan. His guilt over not figuring out the true identity of Lauren Reynolds much sooner had eaten him alive just as much as Morgan's guilt over being the one to find her, and the last one to see her alive. He agonized over every risk she took just as badly. But he just couldn't show it. Facts and analysis were his refuge.

Morgan knew this, and felt badly for berating Reid.

"Sorry, kid," he replied, sighing. "I just still don't understand why she's doing this."

"Well, I may be able to shed some light on that question," Garcia chimed in, looking up from her laptop.

"What is it, Baby Girl?" Derek asked.

Garcia turned her laptop so that the agents could see the screen. It displayed what appeared to be a small blurb from the business section of the New York Times.

"Renowned Banker Richard Prentiss Dies in France," Reid read the headline aloud. "Is that Emily's dad?"

"Yeah, look at the picture," Garcia said softly. The man in the accompanying photograph was certainly Emily's father. His daughter had not inherited his steely blue eyes and the original color of his white hair was unclear, but the facial features were unmistakable. Emily may have inherited Elizabeth's brown eyes and dark hair, but the prominent nose, strong jaw and cheekbones, and large, soft eyes were passed on by Richard.

"Prominent international investment banker Richard Prentiss passed away at a Paris hospital on Monday," Garcia read. "Prentiss was in Paris to meet with investors from Bank BNP Paribas. He suffered a stroke Thursday and was hospitalized in critical condition until suffering a second, fatal stroke. His wife, veteran U.S. Ambassador Elizabeth Prentiss, flew to Paris upon his hospitalization and was by his side when he passed away. Prentiss's remains are being repatriated to the United States, where arrangements for a funeral mass are expected to be forthcoming."

"Oh my God," JJ interrupted. "Look at the date."

"May 17, 2011," Derek read. "So Emily was in hiding at the time. Her parents thought she was dead."

"Yeah, and she was _in _Paris by then," JJ continued worriedly. "She was pronounced dead March 7, 2011. She was in the Navy Hospital in Bethesda recovering for a little over a month, but she was in Paris by the end of April."

"That has to be part of why Emily is so desperate to get to her mom," Reid interjected. "She said she didn't want to sit there and watch her mom die because that's exactly what happened with her dad. He was there dying in the very city in which she was living, but she couldn't go to him."

"I don't know what kind of relationship Emily had with her dad," Morgan admitted, "but unless they just hated each other, that has to have created a lot of guilt."

"Guys, I don't mean to interrupt, but instead of profiling Emily, shouldn't we be checking out these riot leaders," Garcia reminded the three agents.

"Right. Well, while JJ and Morgan were arguing," Reid said, blissfully ignoring the smarting looks from his two colleagues, "I was examining some of the more prominent members at the head of the crowd, nearest to the Embassy. Something definitely isn't right."

…

On the plane, Emily's train of thoughts received a welcome interruption from the rumble of the wheels meeting an isolated runway north of Rome. Moments later, the SIS agent returned to the cabin.

"Chief Prentiss, Agent Polizzi will be aboard momentarily, and we'll depart for Cairo as soon as possible."

"Thank you," Emily responded. "If you don't mind, would you use the secure line to contact Agent Aaron Hotchner of the FBI in Quantico, Virginia. Don't reveal your true identity to anybody but him, and tell him that I'm meeting with Agent Polizzi and have nothing to report right now, but I will be in touch when I reach Cairo."

"Certainly," the agent replied courteously before departing the cabin.

A few moments later, a bearded man in his mid-thirties with a light brown complexion bounded into the cockpit and extended his right hand as he held a large and heavy-looking black duffle bag in his left.

"You must be Emily Prentiss," he said gregariously in Italian. "I'm Victor Polizzi, pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Emily replied in perfect Italian. "I'm sure this isn't an easy assignment to take. Thank you for meeting me."

"Certainly," Polizzi replied, taking a seat across from Emily. "I will try to be of assistance in anyway I can. I respect what you are doing, I know the value of family."

Emily didn't think now was the best time to explain that her "family" probably wasn't quite as close-knit as Polizzi's obviously was. She was also somewhat distracted by the small gold crucifix poking out from behind Polizzi's loosened navy tie.

"I see there's at least one area where you're definitely more in touch with your Italian side," Emily said, indicating the crucifix. It probably wasn't the most appropriate topic to broach with somebody she just met, but she needed to know this man at least somewhat, and the profiler inside her couldn't help it.

"Yes," he said with a small, uncertain smile. "The faith of the Church is very important to me. And you?"

Emily wasn't prepared for the about-face.

"I really don't know anymore," she said truthfully. She supposed she was still technically a lapsed Catholic, but it was hard to bounce back from a near-death experience and not at least wonder. "Sometimes I think there's something there, but with what I've seen in my life it's hard to believe in an all-powerful benevolent force out there."

"With what I've seen I don't know how I'd survive without it," Polizzi answered assertively but not unkindly. "But I digress. We have planning to do. Perhaps, considering our destination, we should continue the conversation in Arabic."

"Good idea," Emily replied, making a seamless transition from Italian. "Obviously the first step is going to be getting in to Cairo and blending in with the crowd. Getting past the Army and Police into the crowd shouldn't be too difficult. There are three other INTERPOL agents meeting us on the ground. They're all permanently stationed in Cairo and are familiar with the underground smuggling tunnels. Thankfully there appear to be a number of women in the crowd, so I won't stick out too badly in that respect, though I think you should probably pose as my husband or male companion so I don't draw too much scrutiny. And obviously my complexion doesn't really blend in, so I'll have to cover my face as much as possible."

"I have you covered there," Polizzi replied, fumbling slightly to unzip his duffle bag as the floor rattled with the plane's takeoff. He reached his hands in to the bag and pulled out both a set inconspicuous Egyptian male garments and a full niqab – a black garment worn by many Islamic women in the Middle East that covered the entirety of the body save for the hands and the area around the eyes.

"It's my mother's," Polizzi continued. "You're not much taller than her, so it should fit alright. You'll blend in, and it should easily conceal any weapon you have as long as you're not planning on carrying a machine gun."

"Just the Glock," Emily replied, indicating the sidearm holstered on her belt. "This all sounds fine, but I have no idea how we're going to fight our way through to the Embassy walls, assuming the place hasn't been run into the ground by the time we get there."

"This should help," Polizzi said withdrawing a large AK-47 from the duffle. "I won't be the only man there with a gun, but there don't actually appear to be that many with something this substantial, so this lends some authority. Plus, I've been observing and infiltrating crowds and groups in the Middle East for seven years now, I know my way through a crowd. You'll just have to follow me. What I'm most concerned about is what to do once we get up there. Obviously the only way in is to try and hoist you over the wall. I'm just afraid some of your countrymen might not be terribly keen to allow you in."

"I'm hoping my old colleagues in Washington can help with that," Emily replied. "They'll be in contact with forces on the ground. They'll just have to convince them that shooting a civilian, particularly a female, will only cause an escalation."

"What are you gong to do once inside?" Polizzi pressed. Emily was pleased to hear him say "once" inside instead of "if." She could already tell that Polizzi was a both a capable and confident man. After dealing with skepticism from Clyde and Morgan all day, it was nice to hear some confidence for a change.

"I can't know until I get there," she admitted. "Even if I get some information from my old team in Washington, I'll obviously need to assess things for myself. But I'm just going to try and find the quickest way possible to get my mother out. Obviously I'll need to go alone. One of us might get over the wall without being shot, but two is pushing it. I'll try and stay in contact with you to gauge the situation outside. Otherwise I'll just have to improvise. I've done it before."

"Alright, sounds like a plan," Polizzi observed. "Admittedly, not easy, but I actually like our chances, relatively speaking. And so we go into the East. Probably best we try and rest for now. I'm exhausted, and I'm no profiler like you were, but you look like you could use some sleep too."

"No argument here," Emily agreed.

The pair shut off the lights in the cabin, and it wasn't long before Emily heard some soft snores indicating that Polizzi was already asleep. Emily pulled her own seat into a sleeping position and pulled a thick, warm blanket over herself. She feared that either the stress of the impending mission or the occasional fits of PTSD she still suffered post-Doyle might cause troubling dreams to interrupt her sleep. But her crippling exhaustion overcame any anxiety and she fell into a deep, restful sleep. She wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been out when the voice of the SIS agent pulled her back into the world.

"Chief Prentiss, Agent Polizzi, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we're preparing to land in Cairo."

_I hope you enjoyed. Next time, we'll see Prentiss start to do her thing and get the team more involved as well. We'll see Prentiss's dad again, but not until later chapters. Again, I will try and post as soon as possible. Reviews are appreciated as always._


	4. Make sure they don't shoot me

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay folks. Like I predicted at the beginning of the last chapter, I had a hell of a busy week so I couldn't update as quickly as I wanted. I hope this fairly long (and more action-oriented) chapter will earn me some forgiveness. I continue to be overwhelmed with the feedback on this story. It's been an interesting one to write so far._

_Sorry again for the delay. Hope you enjoy!_

"Alright, it's been several hours now," Hotch said as the team reconvened in the conference room. The first hints of dawn could be seen through the window as flecks of light pierced the dark sky. It was nearly 5 a.m. in D.C., and most of the team had been awake for nearly 24 hours.

"I know it's late and everyone is tired, so if anybody needs to go home and get some rest, do it. We can work in shifts."

Hotch surveyed the team. It was clear everybody was tired. Their faces were drawn and JJ and Reid at least had hints of shadows forming under their eyes. But Hotch could also tell they were resolute. Their jaws were set firm. Morgan at last articulated what everybody else was thinking.

"We're not leaving Hotch. Not as long as Prentiss is still out there."

"All right," Hotch said, satisfied. "Then let's go over what we have."

"Sir, I've been keeping track of the footage coming in from the ground and, speaking of people not leaving, this crowd seems to be completely tireless. I haven't noticed anybody leave and it's definitely getting bigger," Garcia reported.

"Yeah, and something about the crowd is definitely off," Reid interjected.

"What do you mean?" Hotch demanded.

"According to reports from the news, this gathering started as a random protest against the professor who spoke at the American University in Cairo and things just escalated out of control," Reid continued quickly. "But if that's true, then the people at the front of the crowd should be disorganized, random, uncontrolled. But from what we can see of the footage most of the people at the front are among the calmer members. They're still yelling and waving banners, but very few of them are throwing things or using weapons. Their physical motions seemed almost reserved in comparison to your typical random mob and some of them even appear to be restraining the others a bit. Like they're waiting for something. It's too organized."

"Yeah, Morgan and I looked at the same footage, and we agree. There is definitely a difference in the behavior of those at the very front and those in the middle and towards the back. They're actually less violent," JJ chimed in.

"That's consistent with what I've found," Blake added. "Prentiss was able to have a few translations transmitted to me from the plane and I've gotten more from our translators here. The language used on the banners of the people closest to the embassy is entirely inconsistent with random protest. All of the phrases are either complex sentences that people in a sudden rage simply wouldn't use or they're so simple as to be mere stock phrases, again not indicative of rage. There's actually hardly a mention of the American professor at all. But in the few banners we can make out towards the middle and the back, the linguistic patterns are much more consistent with what you'd expect with sudden anger."

"Something's definitely weird, Hotch," Morgan agreed. "But I just don't know what it all means."

"Neither do I," Hotch admitted. "We can at least get this information to Prentiss when we hear from her again Maybe she'll be able to make something of it."

"Any luck getting in touch with the people on the ground?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, and let's just say they're more than a bit tense," Rossi replied. "There's a small dispatch of Marines and private security contractors there headed up by a Colonel Anderson, and he's a bit difficult to reason with right now. But he had us talk to one of his sergeants, a guy named Rogers. He seems to have his head about him at least. Hopefully they don't do anything stupid."

"Did you talk to Ambassador Prentiss?" Morgan asked.

"No," Hotch replied. "Nobody from State or anywhere else has given us a line to the Ambassador, and if we insisted on talking to her it might tip her off that Prentiss is coming. Nobody is supposed to know."

"Umm, Hotch," Garcia interrupted. "Speaking of Prentiss, we're getting an incoming call from Cairo, and it's not from our people."

"Put it on speaker," Hotch ordered.

…..

Emily glanced out the window as the plane touched down in Cairo. Or, Emily guessed, outside of Cairo. The airstrip looked remote. Probably an area used only by intelligence agencies and military.

No sooner had the plane come to a stop than the entryway opened and three armed men boarded the plane. The INTERPOL help that Clyde had promised.

"Chief Prentiss, Agent Polizzi, I'm Agent Haddad," the largest of them said in Arabic, extending his hand to both. "These are Agents Maalouf and Halabi. Easter seemed to think you could use some help getting into the riot zone."

"Thank you," Emily replied. "We definitely could. What's the plan?"

"Simple. There's a network of underground smuggling tunnels with an entrance not to far from here," Haddad replied. "We drive there, we go in, we move through as fast as we can. Hopefully you're not claustrophobic. There's an exit in the storage room of a shop not far from the edge of the riot zone, past the Egyptian police cordon. You two get out there and go into the crowd. You two should go in alone. Too many of us moving as a unit might draw unwelcome attention."

"Sounds reasonable enough," Emily agreed.

"You should probably change," Haddad suggested. "You're not going to get 5 meters in European business attire. We'll wait outside."

"Thanks, we'll be out in a few minutes," Polizzi replied.

"You change," Emily told Polizzi. "I need to go make a call to Washington."

…

"Prentiss, what's your status?" Hotch asked, as he heard the telltale click on the line indicating a connection had been made.

"Just landed outside of Cairo," Emily reported. "We've met an escort of INTERPOL agents who work in the region, they're going to help us in to the riot zone. From there we push through the crowd as fast as possible, then it's up and over. What do you have on your end?"

"A lot of strange activity," Reid said. Emily couldn't suppress a grin. She sometimes missed the familiarity of Reid's amusingly manic-paced profiling.

Reid relayed to Emily everything the team knew about the crowd: The strange dichotomy between those at the front and those towards the back. The surprising reserve of those who should be the angriest. The inconsistent language on the banners.

"What do you make of all that?" Emily asked.

"Actually, other than that this protest isn't so 'random' as indicated, no idea," Reid admitted. "You?"

"I don't know either," Emily replied. "I'll definitely keep that in mind, see what I can make of it once I get on the ground. What about the people inside the embassy, any luck there?"

"We got in touch with a Colonel Anderson. State has put him and a small military detachment in charge of your mother's security for the moment," Rossi answered.

"What's he like?"

"Definitely power-assertive," Rossi answered. "Large and in-charge type."

"That's not good," Emily answered.

"Why not?" Morgan quizzed.

"Well, honestly, as much as my fighting my way through this crowd probably seems like the crazy part of this plan, that's not the part I'm worried about," Emily relayed. "T I'm worried about is what happens when I get up there. As soon as I try to scale that wall, what's going to stop our guys on the ground from shooting me down?"

"Shit," Derek muttered softly. He was so concerned with the idea of Emily having to fight her way through the thousands of frenzied faces he saw on the surveillance and news footage, he hadn't even thought of the fact that the biggest danger might come from the other Americans. Surveying the rest of the room, he could tell the other members of the team were thinking the same thing.

"Hotch?" Emily inquired.

"Yeah Prentiss," he replied.

"Get back on the line with those guys on the ground. Tell them you believe the leaders of this type of crowd might use a baiting tactic. Sending an unarmed civilian up on the wall to bait the security forces into shooting the civilian in order to whip the crowd up into a frenzy and goad them into storming the Embassy. Tell them not to shoot a civilian unless they have absolutely no choice. Especially if its a child or a woman."

"That might actually work," Rossi muttered softly to Hotch.

"It's our best chance," Hotch agreed quietly.

"Alright Prentiss, we're on it," Hotch said.

"Thanks, Hotch," Emily said earnestly. "I'll be in touch later, we need to go while this is still doable."

Hotch and Emily were about to end the call when Garcia interrupted suddenly.

"Emily Prentiss, you be careful!" she cried out almost hysterically, small tears forming in the corners of her eyes "You stay alive!"

Emily had to fight hard to suppress swelling emotions of her own at this. It reminded her painfully of a voice message Garcia had left on her phone nearly three years prior.

"I always do, Garcia," she managed to reply. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Just make sure they don't shoot me, Hotch" Emily added, seriously but with the slightest touch of sarcasm, hoping to lighten the mood if only a little bit. Thousands of miles away, Derek Morgan thought he could have killed her for that snark.

"I will, Prentiss," Hotch promised solemnly. "Good luck."

With another definitive click, the call ended.

"So what now?" JJ asked.

"Now, I go talk to the guys on the ground. And then," Hotch paused, "we wait."

…

Emily didn't have long to dwell either on Garcia's emotional plea or on the information Reid and Rossi had given her. The latter she would deal with once she got a better idea of the situation no the ground. The former would just have to be shoved away in one of her mental boxes for the time being.

Emily quickly changed into the niqab Polizzi had borrowed from his mother. He was right, it actually fit pretty well. It was a bit stuffy, but less uncomfortable than Emily had feared, and accomplished the goal of hiding much of Emily's pale complexion. After changing and securing her Glock, Emily met Polizzi and the others outside. The group piled into two non-descript looking cars. Emily and Polizzi in the second car with Haddad. Maalouf and Halabi driving the lead car.

After about a fifteen-minute drive, the cars came to an abrupt stop in what looked to be the outskirts of the city. The area was all but abandoned. In the distance, Emily could hear the din of thousands of yelling and screaming rioters, punctuated by the sounds of gunfire. The riot wasn't just a picture on the television anymore.

"Over here," Maalouf said, indicating a small, slightly discolored patch on the ground just behind a small house. Polizzi reached down, lifting open a small trap door.

"Ladies first," he indicated to Emily, who eased herself down into the tunnel. She found it to be surprisingly large, much like the more sophisticated tunnels drug runners built to transport product and money between Mexico and the States. Polizzi came in just behind her, followed by Maalouf, Haddad, and Halabi.

"Quick, follow me," Haddad said, taking the lead. Polizzi filed in behind Haddad with Maalouf and Halabi taking the back. As the group proceeded through the tunnel, Emily quickly discovered that not all of it was so large and sophisticated. While parts of the tunnel were large enough that two or three of them could stand side-by-side, other areas were reduced to little more than crawl space.

"Parts of the tunnel collapsed over time," Haddad explained. "Waiting to rebuild the whole thing would kill some of the black market businesses that depend on it, so the smugglers just dug enough to get through."

As the group eased into another section of the tunnel that was large enough to stand in, Emily could tell they were getting closer to the heart of the city. Even underground, she could hear the sounds of the rioters above, a sound growing louder nearly by the second. She felt the adrenaline pumping into her veins. It was almost go time.

Suddenly, Emily's thoughts were interrupted by a sound much closer than the riots above.

"Stop," came a sudden stern command in Arabic. Emily glanced ahead. An Egyptian police officer, armed with an automatic weapon, stood in their path.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, pointing the weapon threateningly. "Who are you?"

Emily knew she had to act quickly. They absolutely could not reveal their identities, and Emily was convinced that the officer wouldn't believe them even if they did. Besides, the riot above could explode out of control at any moment; she couldn't afford a delay of precious seconds.

Emily knew none of the other agents could use their weapons. The moment they lowered them, the officer would shoot all five of them dead. But the officer couldn't see the Glock Emily concealed underneath the niqab. Slowly, so as to not betray her movement, Emily eased the gun out of its holster and aimed straight for the officer's leg.

The sudden blast of Emily's weapon caused a flurry of activity. The shot hit its target. The officer cried out in pain and grabbed at his shin as his leg gave out beneath him. Haddad and Polizzi leaped onto the officer, Polizzi disarmed him as Haddad held him down.

"Nice thinking," Haddad remarked.

"Is he alright," Emily asked.

"Yeah," Polizzi confirmed. "He's bleeding and he's certainly not going to walk on that leg for awhile, but he's okay for now."

"Get him out of here," Emily said, nodding at Maalouf and Halabi. "Drag him to the nearest exit, get him to a hospital."

"Why?" Halabi asked, seemingly bewildered.

"He's not the enemy," Emily replied. "Just in the wrong place. Take him. Go."

After a second's hesitation, Maalouf and Halabi shouldered their weapons, and, as delicately as possible, dragged the moaning officer away towards an exit.

"Why didn't you go for the kill shot?" Polizzi asked.

"I only do that when I have to," Emily replied. "Besides, like I said, he's not the enemy."

Polizzi smiled approvingly.

"I hope your mother didn't like this thing too much, though," Emily said, pointing to the bullet hole where the Glock had fired through the niqab. "I don't think stitching is going to fix that."

"Oh, don't worry," Polizzi answered with a light snicker. "I'll get her a nice new one before we leave and she'll forget all about it."

"We need to get going, quickly," Haddad interrupted. "Who knows if there are more of them down here, or if they heard that."

Polizzi and Emily followed Haddad as he led them through yet more narrow crawlspaces. Emily was growing sweaty, and the dust made it hard to breathe. Just when she thought they would never make it out, Haddad stopped suddenly and pushed up on the ceiling. Another hidden door opened, emitting both welcome daylight from the sky and the deafening sound of the mob. They were in the riot zone at last.

Emily followed Polizzi and Haddad out of the tunnel. They were definitely on the edge of the zone. It was crowded enough that nobody noticed them emerge from nowhere, but not so crowded that they couldn't maneuver.

"I'll leave you here," Haddad said. "Unless there is anything else I can do."

"No, you've done enough," Emily answered. "Get out of here. And thank you."

"Good luck to you both," he answered earnestly. "I hope you find your mother. Perhaps we can all meet again in safer times. Easter's spoken quite highly of you both. God bless."

Haddad quickly embraced Polizzi and politely nodded at Emily, who knew he couldn't so openly embrace a woman in the crowd without drawing unwanted attention. Emily returned the gesture, and Haddad snuck back down into the tunnel, leaving Emily and Polizzi alone in a sea of thousands.

"Are you ready?" Polizzi asked as both took in the scene before them. Emily could make out the walls of the embassy in the distance. It was less than a mile away, considering everything going on within that mile, it seemed an impossible distance.

"You really think we can do this?" Emily asked skeptically.

"Of course we can, trust me," he answered confidently. "Just be patient and follow my lead, I'm going to drag you in behind me. I get the impression you aren't a person who likes to be dragged around, but just play along for now."

Suppressing a smirk, Emily allowed herself to be dragged in to the crowd. She was still skeptical about making it through. The trek wasn't easy. The noise was so deafening, Emily could barely comprehend her own thoughts. Even though she had been around live gunfire more times than she cared to recount, nothing could quite prepare a person for the experience of having automatic weapons fired into the air and random intervals, sometimes mere feet from their head. At times she felt as if the sheer number of people around her would crush her to death. Other times the pair paused for so long Emily felt sure they were stuck. She feared that at any moment the crowd would rush forward and storm the Embassy, leaving her to watch helplessly from just blocks away. So close to reaching her mother and yet so far.

Despite the difficulties, Emily was actually pleasantly surprised by their progress. Polizzi really did have a gift for moving through a crowd. He seemed to find all of the softs spots in the walls of people. Knew just the right time to authoritatively fire his weapon in the air and the right time to just push through silently. His formidable size made it easy for him to pull Emily through behind him. Step by step, they made their way through the crowd. Emily guessed it took a couple of hours, but at last, miraculously, they reached the edge of the Embassy compound. Emily couldn't help but notice that Reid had been right. The crowd at the Embassy wall was surprisingly subdued compared to the rest of the mob. They were still yelling and screaming, to be certain. But it almost seemed formal to Emily. Like they were going through the motions, waiting for something.

Emily didn't have long to ponder the significance of this. Now came the truly risky part: Going over the wall.

"You're sure you got this?" Polizzi muttered in her ear. Back to Italian, Emily noticed. He'd dropped undercover mode. He was sincerely making sure that she was ready, that she was alright. Emily decided that Clyde had been right about this guy after all. She liked him more and more by the minute.

"I'm sure."

"Alright, you know how to reach me on secure communication, once you're inside. I'll keep you posted as much as I can on the events out here. If I were you I'd get the hell off that wall as quick as possible."

"Oh trust me, I plan on it," Emily answered.

"Okay, here we go."

"Hotch, I really hope you convinced them not to shoot," Emily thought silently, as she stepped into Polizzi's surprisingly strong grip.

…

A world away, the BAU team watched the live news footage with baited breath as an unfamiliar man hoisted a woman in black onto the wall of the American Embassy in Cairo.

_And that's it for now! Again, thanks for your patience, and I should be able to update more often in the coming week. (I can't just leave you on that nasty cliffhanger forever, can I?) Stay tuned. As always, reviews/suggestions are greatly appreciated!_


	5. That's my daughter!

_Author's Note: So, this one didn't take as long as the last chapter to post, but still longer than I'd hoped. I do apologize for that. Also, thank you again for all of the interest and great feedback._

_Fair warning: There is a little bit more intense profanity in this chapter. Not much and it is still within the T range. I just wanted to give a heads up._

_This is another long chapter and has a lot going on. I hope you enjoy!_

Emily barely had time to process what happened next. As Polizzi helped boost her over the wall, she was vaguely aware of yelling. Most of it was behind her in Arabic, but in front of her she heard frantic commands in English. Yet Emily could not afford to devote any energy to anything but a single, all-important thought.

Get off the wall. Now.

Emily was only on the top of the wall for a couple of seconds but to her that time seemed like an eternity. She knew that every moment she was up there she was a target for the panicking troops below. The world seemed to move in slow motion as Emily launched herself from the top of the wall into the compound, hoping what when she hit the ground it would be without a bullet lodged in her body.

She got her wish. Emily was a little bit unsteady on her feet after the ten-foot drop, but she landed intact. Though the world may have slowed down while Emily was up on the wall, it seemed to move double time after she was inside. Within seconds, six armed men wearing full combat gear were waving guns at her.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm an American citizen. Don't shoot!" Emily said, frantically pulling of the niqab so they could see her properly. It was a second too late that she realized her mistake. She'd momentarily forgotten the Glock holstered at her side.

"Gun!" screamed the soldier nearest to her, pointing his weapon straight at her face. "Get on the ground. Get on the ground right now!"

"Alright. Alright," Emily said calmly. Knowing that this was no time to argue, she slowly extended her arms in the air with her palms out and lowered herself to her knees.

"Jensen, Richards go. Now. Now," a voice commanded from the back of the group.

Simultaneously, two men rushed forward. The one who had screamed confiscated the Glock and threw it out of her reach while the other began a pat-down search.

"Do you have any other weapons?" the second man asked.

"No," Emily answered, maintaining her clam, measured tone. The last thing she wanted to do was cause an escalation. She could tell the men were still on edge, and she didn't blame them.

"My name is Emily Prentiss. I'm a commanding agent with INT…"

Emily's sentence was interrupted by a hard object colliding with the side of her face.

"He didn't ask you your name!" the first soldier screamed. After taking a few seconds to blink the daze and blur out of her eyes, Emily realized the thing that hit her in the face had been the butt of a rifle. She did a quick self-inventory of the damage. Her face hurt like hell, but he'd missed her nose and her eye socket. Probably cracked the cheekbone, but that wasn't so bad.

"Answer the question then shut the hell up!" the soldier continued to rave.

"Jensen, chill the hell out," a third soldier said as he approached Emily, lowering his weapon slightly. Emily recognized the voice as belonging to the man who'd ordered Jensen and Richards to search her. She surmised he must have been the ranking member of the group. Much of the man's face was obscured by his helmet and combat goggles, but Emily could clearly see a pair of hazel eyes studying her quizzically.

"What did you say your name was?" he asked.

"Emily Prentiss," Emily repeated, barely concealing her annoyance with being clubbed in the face. She could already feel the swelling starting to rise. "I'm the commanding agent of the London division of INTERPOL. And Ambassador Prentiss is my mother."

"The hell she is!" Jensen yelled indignantly.

"Jensen, _shut up_," the hazel-eyed man implored.

"Actually Jensen, it looks like she's telling the truth," the soldier named Richards replied, examining the ID in the wallet he'd retrieved from Emily's pocket. "There's a badge right here. Says Emily Prentiss on it."

"She could have forged it, Sarge" Jensen insisted. Emily liked this guy less and less by the second.

The soldier in charge paused for a second, scrutinizing Emily thoughtfully. A burst of gunfire from outside the walls tore him away from his thoughts.

"We need to take this inside," the sergeant concluded quickly. "We're detaining you for now until I can sort this out."

"M'am, I need you to slowly lower your hands and put them behind your back," Richards said. He was stern, but much more controlled than Jensen. Emily wasn't thrilled, but she went along. She wasn't about to give Jensen another excuse to play whack-a-mole with her face.

She felt the brush of cold metal against her wrist and heard the telltale clicks as Richards secured the cuffs.

"Alright," the sergeant said authoritatively, addressing all of the group. "Let's get inside."

The sergeant led the way. Prompted by a light nudge from Richards, Emily followed with Richards right behind, firmly grasping her upper arm. Jensen and the others followed in behind.

They entered the nearest building. It was a five-story concrete structure with few windows and appeared to be the most fortified of the handful of buildings inside the walled compound. Inside, yet another soldier waited. This one seemed much older and was wearing a cap rather than a combat helmet. Emily could immediately sense the arrogance radiating from him.

"Sergeant Rogers, what in the hell is going on?" the man barked.

"Honestly, Colonel, I don't even know at this point," the sergeant admitted, rubbing his forehead fretfully as he removed his helmet to reveal sandy-colored hair. "This woman just came over the wall. She claims to be the ambassador's daughter. And she's got the ID to back it up, but I don't know," he said, handing Emily's ID to the Colonel.

The Colonel yanked the ID from him impatiently and studied it.

"INTERPOL, eh?" he said tersely. "How we know this isn't a forgery of some sort to get someone inside the Embassy?"

"It's not," Emily insisted.

"I didn't ask you!" the Colonel snapped.

"We don't," Sergeant Rodgers said.

"I don't have time to deal with petty shit like this right now," the Colonel continued. "In case you haven't looked outside, there are bigger fish for me to fry. They don't pay me to do the menial work. I need to get back on the phone with Washington. Just keep her away from the Ambassador. There's no holding cell in here, but there's a dry storage room in back. Detain her in there and sort this out."

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by a slightly shrill voice that was all too familiar.

"Emily?!" Elizabeth Prentiss came storming into the room. Followed by two very exasperated-looking aides. "Wait, wait! That's my daughter!"

"This really is your daughter?" Sergeant Rogers asked.

"Well, it's been quite awhile and I don't know what your men did to her face, but it is definitely her." Elizabeth replied icily. She was mere feet from Emily now and was studying her intently. Emily couldn't quite read her expression, but had to admit that she was mildly impressed that Elizabeth had managed to work in a dig at both Emily and the security force in a single sentence. She certainly hadn't lost her touch.

"Take those cuffs off of her," Elizabeth demanded. Richards didn't even bother protesting. He hastily withdrew a key and, seconds later, Emily's hands were free.

"I'd like my badge and gun back please," Emily insisted.

"That's not going to happen," Sergeant Rogers protested.

"Give them to her," Elizabeth demanded. Emily wasn't sure why her mother was so hastily and passionately taking her side. She hadn't been sure what to expect when she first saw the Ambassador – she really hadn't had any time to think about it – but she certainly expected more rage and exasperation than this.

Again, the soldiers were irritated, but didn't protest. Jensen grudgingly shoved Emily's Glock and wallet in her hand.

"Are you hungry?" Elizabeth asked Emily.

"Starving," Emily said, still taken aback. It was the first word she'd spoken to her mother in over three years.

"Ian," the Ambassador said, turning to one of her aides. Emily cringed internally a bit at the name. "Could you grab us a couple of water bottles and one of those sandwiches please? And an ice pack too, if you will."

"Uhm. Yeah. Sure," the man replied. Obviously confused by the entire situation. The soldiers too remained dumbfounded. To a man, they stared in amazement at Elizabeth and Emily. Even the pompous Colonel was silent.

"Gentlemen, I believe we still have a situation outside," Elizabeth pointed out. "I know you've all been working very hard, but I think we should get back to business."

"I need to be on the phone with Washington," the Colonel said, struggling to regain a semblance of command. "You men back to your stations."

As the Colonel turned and stormed up the stares, the rest of the men turned away and meandered slowly back towards posts near the entrances. After a few moments, Emily was alone with her mother.

"What happened to your face?" Elizabeth asked coolly.

"Uh, Jensen wasn't too happy to see me, Emily responded. She felt as if she was walking on eggshells. Why was the Ambassador trying to act so _normal_? Even nice?

"Well, put the ice pack on it when it comes," Elizabeth said. Just moments later, Ian returned to the room an ice pack and a pre-packaged sandwich for Emily and water for both women.

"Hope turkey is okay," Ian said. "We're low on everything else and I don't think it's a good day to be grocery shopping."

"Yeah, turkey's fine," Emily answered with a slight snigger. "Thank you."

"Can I get you anything else, Ambassador?"

"No, Ian. That will be all. Thank you," she answered.

As soon as Ian walked out of the room, Elizabeth rounded on Emily.

"Just what in the hell do you think you are doing here?" she hissed.

Of course, Emily thought. Her mother had been waiting until everyone had gone. It would be unseemly to act upset and rage in front of others. Even in a complete crisis, Elizabeth was every bit the politician.

"Nice to see you too, mother," Emily replied sarcastically. A fire smoldered in the Ambassador's eyes.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Emily said seriously. "Have you looked outside lately? I'm here to help you."

"Help? _Help_?" Elizabeth replied with an air of disbelief, raising her brown eyebrows into that scathing look that Emily knew so well.

"The last time I saw you was over three years ago," she continued in her dangerous low and fast voice. "Actually no, that's the last time I _thought _I saw you. In a box being lowered into the ground. The last time I actually saw you was almost four years ago. Since then you've gone off leaving me to believe you were dead for seven months. Then when you came back and, instead of doing the sensible thing and taking a safe job and starting over, you went straight back into that insane FBI job of yours. You were back there less than a year but still managed to get yourself shot. _Then _you decide to drop everything and go off to London and work with the same people who nearly got you killed in the first place. And not _once _did you have the decency to call me!"

Emily was momentarily taken aback, unsure of how to respond.

"How did you know I got shot?" was all she finally managed.

"Do you think you're the only person with connections or computer-hacker friends?" Elizabeth asked. "I've been checking up ever since I found out you were alive and back in Washington."

"Oh really? _Really_?" Emily said. It was her turn to vent. "So you have your people stalk me? You hack my medical file but you can't call me? Or even just e-mail? At least that explains how you got my addresses. Nice Christmas cards, by the way. Absolutely nothing in them. Not even your name. What exactly was I supposed to make of that?"

"So it's all my fault then," Elizabeth concluded sarcastically. "Of course. At least I did _something_, Emily. I heard nothing from you. Nothing. For three years. You said nothing to me. Not to mention your father. You let him die believing his only child was gone."

"Don't," Emily said darkly. She was the angriest she'd been in a long time. "Don't you dare. Do you think I wanted to be in hiding, moving from place to place, name to name, not knowing when it would end? Do you think I enjoyed that? Do you think I liked staying tucked away in a hole in the wall while Dad was dying? I would have done anything to go. But I couldn't. It might have gotten us all killed. You, me, and him. If I could have changed it, I would have. I would have been there in a second."

"Of course you would have," Elizabeth said. "You were always closer to your father."

"That is not true," Emily countered. "Dad and I weren't close at all. How could we be? I followed you on all of your postings while he travelled all over on his business trips. Of course we had fun when the few times a year we saw each other. He was on vacation and didn't have to go anywhere. He could take me on little trips or to the concert hall or the theatre while you were busy, then he could head back out on his next trip and never have to deal with me at my worst. It was easy. We never knew each other well enough. We didn't have to. And now I can't change that."

An uncomfortable silence lingered for what seemed like several minutes before Emily spoke up again.

"Look," she said earnestly. "We both screwed up. I screwed up. I know that. I need to work on some things. We need to talk."

"But I am here right now," Emily continued. "I jumped on a plane, flew halfway around the world, crawled through a crappy tunnel, squeezed through a mob, broke into an Embassy, had my face smashed in and was arrested, but I'm here. And I'd rather that not be for nothing. So let's deal with this and then maybe we can chat somewhere when there aren't thousands of people waving around guns outside."

"Alright," Elizabeth agreed. She seemed nearly speechless for the first time Emily could remember.

"Great," Emily said, transitioning straight back into her agent mode. Elizabeth took a second to marvel at her daughter's compartmentalization skills. Elizabeth and Richard had both been good at it. That's how they managed a marriage and successful careers for decades, but Emily really took it to a different level.

"This is a fairly new facility and I know they made substantial changes in the region after Benghazi, so I assume there's got to be some route out."

"We already checked," Elizabeth answered. "There's nothing."

"How can there be nothing?" Emily pressed. "I thought they really upped the security and evacuation measures."

"I thought so, too" Elizabeth said. "But there's nothing. Colonel Anderson personally checked the blueprints and schematics of the whole place. Twice. No evacuation route built in."

"Do you have a line to Washington?" Emily said suddenly. "Not the one Anderson is using. Yours. Your personal one."

"Yes," Elizabeth answered, motioning to a phone on the wall encased in a box that looked design to survive a nuclear war. "It's a direct line to State. Thankfully they haven't knocked it out yet."

"Get on there and tell them you need to speak to Aaron Hotchner at the FBI."

"Hotchner? Your old boss? Why?"

"Just do it please, mother," Emily asked.

"Alright. Alright."

Elizabeth picked up the line. After several minutes and not a few stern demands, she handed the phone to Emily.

"It's connecting."

…

In Quantico, the phone in the BAU conference room blared yet again.

"Sir, another call from Cairo. The Embassy this time," Garcia said.

"Put it to the speaker again," Hotch ordered.

"This is SSA Hotchner," he answered.

"Hotch, it's Prentiss," Emily's voice came over.

"Oh Emily! Thank God!" Garcia exclaimed loudly.

The relief was palpable on the faces of all of the team.

"We weren't sure what happened to you," JJ explained quickly. "We were watching the news and we saw you go over the wall. Or at least we assume that was you. But we didn't see what happened after that."

"Are you alright?" Derek demanded.

"Yeah, fine," Emily replied. Half-truthfully. She thought she could save the detail about her face until later.

"Garcia, are you still there?" Emily continued.

"Yes, my sweet! What can I do for you?"

"I need your hacking skills. I need you to get into the State Department system and find the schematics to the Embassy. Let me know if there is a tunnel or escape route built in. Even if its rudimentary."

"Prentiss, we checked already," Derek said. "There's no evacuation route built in."

"Did Colonel Anderson tell you that?" Emily pressed.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Rossi replied.

"Because he told my mother the same thing. He said he personally checked the plans twice."

"Well then why do you need Garcia to look?" Derek asked, confused.

"Because something doesn't fit," Emily insisted. "You told me yourself that Anderson was a power-assertive type. And I just met him. I didn't see much but he's definitely all about the ego and the power. He thinks he's above most people."

"Yes, we get that impression too," Hotch agreed. "I still don't understand where you're going with this Prentiss."

"Anderson thinks he is too good to do what he considers low-level micro tasks. He's all about making the big, prestigious macro decisions. Hell, when I went over the wall, he didn't come out with his men to get me. Even before they could confirm who I was, he didn't seem interested in taking any part in interrogating me. He called it 'petty shit' and 'menial.' Now why would I a guy who thinks he is above the petty task of interrogating a woman who just broke into the Embassy personally take it upon himself to do something as menial as checking blueprints? Twice. Surely any of his men would have been capable of something that simple. He would think it's below him."

"She's right," Blake commented.

"So you think Anderson's lying?" Derek asked.

"I don't know. I think it's worth finding out."

"I'm on it, Em," Garcia vowed. "Give me a few minutes."

"Alright, just make sure Anderson doesn't find out about this," Emily pressed. "He's on the line with somebody in Washington now."

"No he isn't," Hotch interjected.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked. "He said he had to get back on the line with Washington. He acted like he's been communicating back and forth all day."

"We've been in constant contact with the other agencies all day," Hotch replied. "Nobody has heard from Anderson since initial contact hours ago."

"Then what the hell is he up to?" Emily wondered aloud.

"I don't know," Hotch answered. "But I'm starting to think you were definitely right to be suspicious."

"Alright," Emily said. "I'm going to call you back in a few minutes to find out what Garcia can dig up. Right now I need to get in touch with Polizzi outside. I'll call back."

"We'll be waiting," Hotch said. "Be careful."

"I will."

The call ended.

"Hotch, what the hell is going on there?" Derek asked worriedly.

"That's what we're going to find out."

…

"Emily, what on earth is going on?" Elizabeth asked.

"We can't trust Anderson," Emily concluded. "At least not right now. Hopefully they find something that can get us out of here."

"How does this have anything to do with the people outside?" the Ambassador pressed.

"I don't know yet," Emily said. "That's what I have to find out. Hand me that radio," she said, indicating a handheld device on a desk next to Elizabeth.

"You can't use that, that's what they're using to communicate internally in the Embassy," Elizabeth said.

"I know what frequencies the military and private contract security use," Emily said.

"How do you know that?"

"Long story. Maybe later," Emily answered. "What matters for now is that I also know what frequency INTERPOL uses. I also know how to speak Italian, and I'm going to bet that Anderson doesn't."

"Polizzi," she said after fiddling for some time with the dials. "Polizzi can you hear me?"

"I've got you," the now-familiar voice replied. "Good to know you made it this far. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Prentiss, you really need to hurry up?"

"What's going on?"

"Do you remember how you noticed that the leaders at the front of the crowd were to reserved, too patient? Like they were waiting for something?"

"Yeah."

"Well I never got into the profiling bit," he continued. "But something has definitely changed. They look like they're getting impatient. Like they expect something to happen soon or they're irritated it hasn't yet. Either way. You need to get out. Now."

_That's all for now folks. Again, I hope you enjoyed. We'll keep right on going in the next chapter (already underway). Suggestions, comments, and reviews are appreciated as always. (And to my fellow Prentiss fans residing in Canada or the U.S.: Less than 2 weeks until Prentiss is back on our TV screens for a glorious episode. Yay!)_


	6. Traitor

_Author's Note: So, I've had quite the writing spurt lately. Consequently, I can happily add my second update in as many days. I hope this makes up at least a little bit for the delay in posting the last few chapters._

_Also, I did briefly take down then re-post Chapter 5 yesterday. It was called to my attention that a couple of choice words might have pushed the boundary of the T rating, so I rewrote the relevant portion. (Thanks to 20Waffles for pointing that out!) I apologize for any confusion._

_Anyway, the response to the story just continues amaze. I hope you enjoy Chapter 6!_

As soon as possible, Emily was back on the line with the team in Quantico.

"Garcia, have you found anything?" she asked.

"Found something would be an understatement," Garcia answered. "I found the schematics to the Embassy. I also did some digging into Colonel Scheezeball's past and I found that three months ago, just around the time he took this command, he decided to start an off-shore bank account which I assume he foolishly thought nobody would find and he's made several cash deposits in very interesting amounts."

"So somebody started paying him handsome amounts of money for something right around the time he started heading security forces at the Embassy?" Emily asked.

"That's what it looks like, Em," Garcia affirmed. "And it looks like just before he took the command at the Embassy he was passed over for a promotion to general. The third time he's been passed over. Before he reached the rank of colonel he'd never been passed over before."

"That was a trigger," Reid concluded. "He's a complete narcissist and a control freak, but he was always able to find an outlet for it in the army. Now that he can't get a promotion, that outlet isn't working for him anymore. So he decided to make the government pay by showing them that he's capable of beating them by selling them out and making money off of it. By turning traitor for profit."

"So, he gets fed up after being denied for the third time, starts looking for an opportunity to sell out, gets the assignment at the Embassy in Egypt and begins working with terrorists?" JJ summarized.

"That's what it seems like," Hotch said. "An embassy would be a very high target, particularly after Benghazi. It makes the U.S. look vulnerable if they have another embassy disaster after all the attention and security upgrades following the first one."

"That's who he's talking to," Emily concluded. "The people outside. The leaders at the front of the crowd. We profiled that they were too calm. Waiting for something. They're in touch with Anderson. They're waiting for a signal from him."

"Yeah, but why exactly?" Derek pondered. "He's just one guy on the outside. They have thousands of people out there to storm that place. Why wait?"

"I don't know," Emily said. "I'd rather not have to find out. Garcia, you said you found the schematics. Anything I should know about?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, your hunch was right as ususal" Garcia replied. "According to the schematics, State built an emergency evacuation route out of the Embassy last year. It doesn't look all that sophisticated, but there's a rough network of underground tunnels that lead out of the compound into the eastern half of the city."

"Well, good that's away from the riot zone," Emily observed. "Where does it let out?"

"That I don't know yet," Garcia admitted. "The schematics I have only show the tunnel as far as the boundaries of the compound. I'll need to dig a little bit to see where it actually ends."

"I don't think we have time to wait," Emily answered. "We need to go as soon as possible. Can you tell me the access point from inside the Embassy?"

"From the building you're in, the access point is in the northeast corner of the building, from what appears to be a bathroom."

"The bathroom?" Emily asked incredulously. "What do we do, flush ourselves in through the toilet."

"No, smarty-pants, but ten points for the Harry Potter reference," Garcia replied. "There's a storage closet in there. Looks like you need to pull out the back panel and you're in."

"Alright, thanks Garcia," Emily answered. "Keep looking to see where that tunnel lets out. If you find out, get in touch with Easter in London and have him relay it to Polizzi."

"On it," Garcia answered.

"Garcia?"

"Yeah, Em?"

"Did I ever tell you what a lifesaver you are?"

"Oh, trust me sugarplum, I know how awesome I am. Now _you _do your awesome thing and get out of there. Rossi's having a big Christmas party at his house this year and you are _not _allowed to not show up."

"Count me in. Bye, Garcia."

…

"Emily, what's going on?" the Ambassador asked, exasperated.

"Anderson is up to something," Emily answered. "The short version is that he's a narcissistic sociopath. He's pissed off that he got passed up for a promotion and decided to make the government pay by embarrassing them on the international stage and profiting from it."

"By having me assassinated by terrorists?" Elizabeth observed.

"Well, not necessarily you personally," Emily answered. "It looks like he's been planning something for at least three months and you didn't take the position until six weeks ago if I recall."

"Well, thank God it's not personal," the Ambassador replied sarcastically. "I feel a lot better about the whole thing now."

"Relax, Mother," Emily said. "I've found a way to get everybody out of here. We just need to keep it under wraps and move as soon as possible. Go get Sergeant Rogers, and make sure he comes in here alone. I need to make another call to Polizzi. Then we're leaving."

As the Ambassador left, Emily grabbed the radio and made one last transmission to the outside.

"Polizzi, are you still there?"

"I'm here," he responded. "Prentiss, things are getting really tense out here. Please tell me you've found a way out."

"We have," Emily confirmed. "There's a series of tunnels that should take us out of the compound to the eastern part."

"More tunnels, I bet you're excited."

"At this rate, I'm happy with whatever gets us out of here," Emily replied.

"Fair point. What do you need me to do?" he asked.

"Get away from the Embassy and find a way to get in contact with Clyde," Emily answered. "My old team back in Washington is going to tell him where the tunnel lets out. If it's safe, you can meet us there and we all grab the first possible plane out."

"Got it, I'll be waiting for you."

"Just be careful," Emily warned. "If you can't make it safely, then don't worry about it. I'll figure a way out. I feel bad enough for dragging you into this. Don't get hurt."

"Nonsense, I'll be fine, don't worry." he replied confidently. "I wouldn't still be out here if I didn't want to be. Plus, from where I'm standing right now, you're in a lot more trouble than I am. Get your mother and get out. I'll see you soon."

Just after Emily ended her conversation with Polizzi, the Ambassador returned with Sergeant Rogers in tow.

"Respectfully, M'am, I don't understand what you want from me," the Sergeant told Elizabeth. "I can be a lot more useful to you by keeping an eye on what's going on outside."

"Sergeant, just be patient for a minute," Elizabeth demanded. "My daughter has some information to share with you."

Rogers looked skeptical. Emily wasn't surprised. It was rather rich of her mother to tell him to be patient. Anybody who worked with the Ambassador for even a short length of time knew that patience wasn't exactly her strong suit. Emily could also tell that Rogers didn't yet know what to make of Emily herself. She just hoped he wasn't so mistrustful as to completely disregard what she was about to tell him.

"Sergeant, you cannot trust Colonel Anderson," she told him.

Rogers raise his eyebrows, taken aback. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that.

"And why exactly is that?" he finally asked.

"He lied about there not being an evacuation route," Emily continued. "He also lied about being in touch with Washington all day. He's only talked to them once. I don't know exactly who he is talking to, but a safe bet is that it's somebody who has a lot to do with what's going on outside."

"You know this how exactly?"

"Before I worked for INTERPOL, I spent several years at the FBI," Emily explained. "I have a lot of contacts back in Washington and some of them are working on this situation as we speak. They told me Anderson hasn't been in touch since initial contact hours ago. They also found the actual schematics to the Embassy. There's a way out, and if you want to live through this, we need to get as many people as we can as quietly as we can and leave now."

"I don't believe this," Rogers answered with nervous and skeptical laughter. "I didn't even know you until you showed up an hour ago out of nowhere with a gun, and now I'm supposed to just take your word that my highly-decorated commanding officer is lying and trying to get us all killed?"

"I know you have no reason to trust me," Emily admitted, growing slightly impatient. "But you also seem like a smart and reasonable person, so just hear me out. You know Anderson. You've worked under him for several months. You know he's got a superiority complex and he thinks he's above anything but the most important-sounding tasks. He's not a micro-manager, he thinks he's too good for that."

Rogers was taken-aback by Emily's extensive analysis. He didn't even try to argue.

"What's your point?" he finally asked.

"So why then did he insist on personally checking the schematics to the building for an escape route? Twice? I assume that's one of the first things you would do when you see a riot building outside, if not when you take the Embassy security assignment in the first place. I also assume that something as basic as finding a blueprint is the type of task that the Colonel would order somebody else to do."

"So he lied to us?"

"Yes he did. He got passed up for a promotion a few months ago for the third time. His ego couldn't take the fact that he'd reached the end of his road. He decided he needed to make the government pay and this assignment gave him a chance to do that. He could serve up a prominent Embassy to the terrorists on a silver platter."

Emily could tell the Sergeant was carefully weighing her argument and beginning to come around. But to her dismay, he still wasn't convinced yet. They were running out of time.

"What reason do I have to lie to you? If this building gets overrun, I'm as much of a gonner as you are," Emily urged, no longer bothering to hide her exasperation. "Right now I'm offering you and every other innocent person here a way out. There is a tunnel underground with an access point from the storage closet in the first-floor bathroom. If you don't believe me, go look for yourself."

He scrutinized her for a few agonizingly long seconds before replying.

"Maybe I'll just do that. I'll be right back, and I really hope you aren't lying to me," he threatened. "Because if you are and you're helping those bastards outside for some reason, I will personally make sure you go down with the rest of us."

With that, the Sergeant stormed out of the room.

"Do you think he's going to come around?" the Ambassador asked.

"He will as soon as he sees I'm telling the truth," Emily responded. "I'm just afraid that if he takes too long to make up his mind and start helping evacuate people it's going to be too late. If he's not back in five minutes, I'm sending you out through that tunnel by yourself. An INTERPOL agent will meet you on the other end. His name's Victor Polizzi. You can trust him. I'll stay behind to gather as many people as I can without tipping of Anderson and then I'll follow behind you."

"Emily Prentiss," her mother retorted indignantly. "I am not going to run away and leave everybody else behind."

"Yes you are," Emily insisted with equal force. "You, Mother, are the grand prize here. The terrorist behind this will gladly kill any soldiers and staff in here, but they've killed plenty of soldiers and civilian staffers throughout the region already. What they really want is to add another ambassador to their count, to bring American diplomacy to its knees. _You _are the big PR victory. If you die, none of this matters. Everything Rogers and his men have done. Everything your staff has done. Everything _I've _done. Pointless."

"Nothing you've done here today has been pointless, Emily," the Ambassador answered. "And I _am not _leaving here without you."

Emily didn't have time to be touched by this. Yes, she wanted reconciliation with her mother. A restart. But this was the worst possible time for the Ambassador to suddenly grow mushy for the first time in forty years.

"I know it goes every instinct and bit of pride in your body to listen to me, but you are going if I have to throw you in that tunnel and bar the door behind you," Emily said, refusing to get sentimental. "We are not arguing about this."

Thankfully, the reappearance of Rogers meant they didn't have to.

"You were right," he said hurriedly to Emily. "I looked back in the closet. There's definitely a door to something hidden back there. But that's not all. I went upstairs to check and make sure Anderson is still occupied. I found some rudimentary wiring and explosive material tucked away in the corners of the second and third floors. He's planning to blow off the upper floors of the building."

"That's what the people outside are waiting for," Emily realized. "That's the signal. He blows up the upper floors to collapse the building on top of those of us below. Security is completely disrupted and the wreckage traps everybody who isn't killed in the blast. The terrorists come in and pick off the survivors."

Emily thought it best not to add that there was a decent chance they'd then take the Ambassador's remains and parade them through the streets.

"I talked to Jensen and Richards and told them to round up everyone they can reasonably get to as quietly as possible. We're leaving. Now."

"Oh no you are not," a threatening voice came from the entrance to the room.

Colonel Anderson stood with his officer's pistol drawn. He was pointing it at the Ambassador.

Rogers froze. Calmly but quickly, Emily pulled her own weapon and stepped between her mother and the Colonel.

"Emily what are you doing?" the Ambassador hissed.

"Not now, Mother," Emily replied calmly, without taking her eyes off of the Colonel. The man was drawing deep, fast breaths and end of his pistol was shaking. His hand was unsteady. Emily wasn't quite sure if the behavior was indicative of nervousness and hesitation or deep rage. It could be either. An arrogant narcissist like the Colonel would certainly be enraged at his plans being foiled. On the other hand, because the Colonel didn't like to be involved in the actual dirty work and delegated them as much as possible, he might not been mentally prepared for a face-to-face confrontation. Might not actually have the courage to pull the trigger. Emily hoped for the latter.

"Colonel," Emily said in an even tone, trying her best to treat the situation just like she would have any other confrontation with a distressed unsub while working for the BAU. "Just put it down. Everybody here knows what's going on now. Even if you shoot, there's no way you make it out of this."

"Yes, Agent Prentiss I am well aware of that," he agreed, but did not put the gun down.

"Then put the gun down," Emily repeated. "You can either surrender and walk out of here with us or you can die disgraced. It's your choice. But the game is up."

"You see, that's where you're wrong," the Colonel argued. "The game is not quite up yet. I may have lost, that's true. But like you said, I can still pick the ending. I am a proud man, Agent Prentiss. A man of honor. A man of my word, and three months ago I gave my word to some new friends in Cairo that I would make my country pay for rejecting me. I gave my word I'd make them pay with a dead Ambassador. If you want to die with your mother, so be it."

Emily immediately knew it was no good to keep talking. If ever there was a time to take the kill shot, it was now. Without any further hesitation, Emily squeezed the trigger of her Glock. At the exact same moment, Anderson squeezed the trigger of his pistol.

Both Colonel Anderson and Emily Prentiss collapsed to the ground.

…

As soon as Derek saw what was happening on the television screen, he stormed past the open-mouthed JJ and Reid and a sobbing Garcia into the bullpen.

"Hotch, Blake, Rossi!" he screamed as loudly as possible. The three agents came scrambling from Hotch's office toward the conference room.

"Morgan, what's wrong?" Hotch demanded.

"Look at the screen," Derek said in a defeated tone.

Hotch didn't need to hear the news anchor's frantic relaying do see what was going on. Dozens of rioters were starting to scale the compound walls. They were done waiting. The Embassy had been breached.

"Emily, you better not be in that building," JJ muttered softly. For the second time that day, the seven agents watched the screen with baited breath.

….

Once again, the world around Emily seemed to speed up in an instant.

"Emily! Oh God!" she heard her mother scream. It was the first time in her life that Emily had heard her mother so panicked.

Momentarily ignoring the searing pain and the blood pooling below her leg, Emily chanced a glance across the room. The contrast of her calmness with the Colonel's uncontrollable rage had made all the difference. His aim had strayed and hers had not. Anderson had lodged a bullet into Emily's right hip. Emily had killed Anderson.

But while Emily had won this battle, the struggle was far from over. Blood streamed steadily down her leg, staining her tan slacks red. She didn't need an x-ray to tell her that the shot had fractured part of her pelvic bone.

To make matters worse, Richards stormed in with some bad news.

"Sergeant! The Embassy has been breached," he cried in a panic. "They're coming over the walls."

"Are the doors barred?" Rogers demanded.

"Yes."

"Alright, we might have a few minutes then," Rogers concluded. "We need to go. Everybody out. Now!"

"What about my daughter!" the Ambassador demanded.

"I'm fine mother," Emily said, struggling onto her left leg. It was at least partially the truth. She wasn't sure how fast she was bleeding and she was certain her right leg would not support all of her weight, but for now she could move and stand. That was good enough. She wasn't too keen to find out what would happen if she stuck around.

"Let's go," Emily told Rogers.

The Sergeant didn't need to be told twice. In an instant, he led the group out to the hall where they met up with the remaining staff and soldiers all careening in a barely-controlled panic towards the bathroom.

"Everybody stay calm," Rogers barked. "We can't all cram in here at once. Keep moving, one at a time or we're all screwed."

Dragging one leg behind her, Emily struggled to keep up. Suddenly, she felt somebody swing her right arm over their shoulder. Jensen was helping her along.

"Thanks Jensen," Emily said, slightly taken aback.

"No problem," the soldier replied. "I kind of owe you. Sorry about your face. I was a little freaked out."

"Understandable," Emily replied.

"Ambassador, you first!" Rogers said loudly.

"Where's Emily?" she demanded.

"I'm coming, Mother!" Emily replied the hallway. "Stop holding everyone up. Just go!"

At a relatively quick pace given the circumstances, the dozen or so soldiers and staff streamed into the bathroom, climbing over the bathroom tissue, soap, towels, and shelves that had hastily been ripped from the storage closet, and into the tunnel below. Emily was one of the last in. As Rogers pulled the door shut behind them, she could hear the sounds of breaking windows and crashing doors. The rioters were inside the building.

_Thanks again for reading! Chapter 7 is in progress. As always, comments/reviews/suggestions are always welcome._


	7. Footrace

_Here's Chapter 7. Sorry for the slight delay. This one was probably the hardest to write. I've been juggling between two or three different endings to this story in my head, so I finally had to settle on one and figure out how exactly to get us there. I've got my ending in mind now, so things should go more smoothly from here on out. _

_Again, thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story. I really am enjoying writing again. I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

"Alright, everyone. Quickly and quietly," Sergeant Rogers said, pushing through to the front of the group.

Emily seriously doubted that the "quietly" part was going to help much, or at least for very long. Even if only a fraction of the rioters came into the building, there would be dozens if not hundreds of them flooding the building and looking for blood. As soon as they realized nobody was there, they would go looking for hiding places. Emily didn't think it would take them long to find the shelves and supplies hastily ripped-out and strewn all over the bathroom floor and figure out the significance of the storage closet, and this was assuming Anderson hadn't already tipped somebody off about the evacuation tunnels. After that, all that was left to protect them was the barricaded metal door. Emily caught a glance at it as she went in to the tunnel. It was certainly sturdy, but by no means impenetrable. Speed was their only chance.

Emily allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The tunnel had no light source of its own. Thankfully, Rogers and a few others had thought to grab flashlights on the way out. From what little light was available, Emily could see that Garcia hadn't been wrong in calling the tunnel unsophisticated. It was comprised largely of earthen walls packed tightly over an almost skeletal wooden frame. It wasn't much of an improvement over the smuggling tunnels Emily and Polizzi had crawled through earlier in the day. In fact, parts of those passages were probably sturdier than this one.

Although Emily would have preferred that they not be in a footrace for their lives, there was one silver lining: Her adrenaline was still pumping, which meant the pain in her hip was not as severe as it might otherwise had been. Unfortunately, this did nothing to help the bleeding. Emily still had not had the chance to evaluate the wound, but she could still feel the blood sliding down her leg and into her boots. She was a bit light-headed, but she knew at least some of this was attributable to Jensen's over-exuberant greeting. She also found reassurance in the fact that she could still, for the most part, concentrate and function. This meant she still had some time before she bled out. If they could make it out of the tunnel relatively quickly, she liked her chances.

As Jensen continued to help her along with the rest of the group, Emily saw that at least one member of the group was fighting her way backwards towards them.

"Emily," the Ambassador exclaimed impatiently, pushing the others up against the walls of the narrow tunnel. "Emily, are you alright?"

Emily couldn't help but be exasperated by her mother's actions. She knew the Ambassador was stubborn. As JJ, Morgan, Garcia, and Clyde were constantly compelled to remind her, she had inherited that trait in droves. But even Emily knew when it was time to yield to the reality of the situation. Her Mother was slowing them down at the worst possible time.

"I told you Mother, I'm fine," she hissed.

"You are _not _fine. Look at you," her Mother retorted, gesturing at Emily's now almost completely blood-soaked pant leg. Emily found herself wishing she'd worn black pants instead of tan so the contrast with the red was less dramatic.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Emily insisted.

"Respectfully, Ambassador, there's not much we can do about it anyway," Jensen pointed out.

As if to emphasize the point, the thundering sound of something pounding on steel reverberated from behind them. Somebody was trying to break down the door.

"Just, _go_," Emily demanded. Not without some reluctance, the Ambassador relented and the group pressed on.

Emily had no idea how long they'd been there. It was too dark to see her watch. It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but Emily guessed it had only been a matter of minutes. She took some measure of comfort in the fact that the pounding noise behind them grew dimmer as the wondered further in. The door had not been breached yet. She just hoped it would continue to hold and that nothing sinister was waiting wherever they came out.

_Whenever _they came out. Surely the exit had to be coming up soon. A tunnel built so hastily couldn't possibly go all that far. Yet every time Emily felt sure that they'd find the exit any second, they would turn a corner and find another seemingly endless dark stretch of the tightly-packed Earth. As she grew increasingly lightheaded and her breathing gradually became quicker and shallower, flickers of doubt began to cross her mind.

Emily quashed her doubts as quickly as possible. Doubt was unproductive. But apparently Emily was not the only one disconcerted by the length of their journey.

"Agent Prentiss," Rogers called from several feet ahead. "Any idea where this thing lets out?"

"Nope," she answered truthfully, with a slight tinge of annoyance. Between being shot at by deranged traitor and running from an armed mob, when exactly was she supposed to have time to make another phone call?

"Well, surely it lets out somewhere," she heard him sigh. "Even the government generally knows well enough to put openings on both sides of a tunnel."

The comment earned a few nervous sniggers from the crowd. Emily had to hand it to him for trying to keep things somewhat light in a situation like this. It was good leadership skill. But the momentary reprieve was snuffed out by the sounds coming from behind them. The dull thud of the pounding door in the distance was replaced by the sound of frenzied voices not so far behind.

"Son of a bitch!" Jensen exclaimed, bringing up his rifle. The rest of the soldiers pushed their way through the staff and towards the sound of the oncoming rioters. Emily fumbled for her Glock, before she was abruptly stopped by a forceful hand.

"No. No. No. Prentiss," Jensen said, preventing her from drawing her weapon. "Stop. We got this. We got this. Just get down."

Emily didn't have much of a choice anyway. As soon as she let go of Jensen, her leg threatened to give out beneath her until she managed to pin herself against the wall. As she slid down the wall, she grabbed the Ambassador's suit jacket, pulling the Ambassador down with her.

"Mother, get down and cover your ears," Emily warned. Mercifully, Elizabeth complied without question.

Through the thin wall of troops, Emily could see a handful of rioters, some armed some not, round the nearest corner. At least one opened fire. In the beam of a flashlight, Emily saw the shots misfire into the wall, causing chunks of earth and wood to fly precariously. Luckily the use of flashlights and the fact that the rioters were so loud as to telegraph their movements gave Rogers and his men the advantage. They managed to take out the oncoming group in a matter of a few seconds.

As Emily uncovered her ears, she noticed some of those around her hadn't been so thoughtful, some were moaning and rubbing furiously at their ears. Others shook their heads vigorously back and forth. Emily hadn't escaped totally unscathed. She was still bothered by an intense ringing and a deep ache on the right side, but nothing too bad.

"How on earth did you remember to do that?" the Ambassador asked, somewhat gratefully?

Emily was alarmed to find herself struggling to answer her Mother's question. Her focus was slipping more and more by the second. She had to open and close her eyes several times before she remembered the answer.

"I...uh…I…I've been around guns like that fired in close quarters," she finally managed. "Blew out my eardrum. It…uh…it really sucked."

It took only a passing glance at the Ambassador's face to see her alarm at Emily's immense struggle to answer a simple question.

"We've got to get her out of here," Jensen said, helping Emily back to her feet. "She slipping into shock."

"We have to get all of us out," Richards corrected. "There are more of them coming. Listen."

Sure enough, the sound of stampeding feet and bloodcurdling cries, could be heard from down the tunnel. Even in her dazed state, Emily could make out some of the Arabic:

"Down here! Down here! The Americans are down here!"

"Jig's up, boys," Rogers said sadly, but somehow still with considerable gusto. "We make a stand here, hold them off as long as we can. Everyone else keep going. I don't know that we can buy you much time, but we can give you a shot."

No. Emily thought. It could be over. Not like this. Not when they were so close to getting everybody out. Not after everything she'd managed to make it through that day. Images from the seemingly unending day blurred through her mind. The hours on a plane. Scaling the wall. Fighting through the crowd. Crawling on her hands and knees through the badly-rebuilt portions of collapsed black market tunnels.

"Wait!" Emily said suddenly at this last thought, with all the strength she had left to muster. Her desperation had yielded a much-needed moment of clarity. "Bring it down."

"What?" Rogers asked, clearly not following.

"The tunnel. It's not that well built. You still have plenty of ammo? You carry grenades?"

"Yeah."

"Take out the beams holding up the tunnel," Emily said, drawing breaths as deeply as possible in order to get the words out. "Collapse it between them and us."

"Holy shit, you're a genius!" Jensen commented.

"Do we even have time?" Richards asked. "Those guys are going to be here in a minute or less, and what's to stop it from burying all of us?"

"It's a long shot," Rogers replied. "But shorter than the one I had in mind. Richards, you and I will take forward positions and try and hold off the first wave. Smith, Alvarez, Sherman, you three shoot those beams, rig up some grenades, whatever you have to do to bring those beams down. When you're about ready, holler and we'll bring it down and make a run for it. Everybody else, clear out of here as fast as you can right now. Jensen, go with them and take Agent Prentiss. Let's move."

Immediately, Rogers and Richards were scrambling away. The civilian staff began moving as quickly in the opposite direction. Jensen once again slung Emily's arm over his shoulder and tried to help her along with them. Under normal circumstances, Emily would have fought him, would have insisted on staying behind to help. But stubborn as she was, even she knew when she'd reached the end of her rope, and right now was one of those times. She could barely move on her own, she'd be no help to them. She'd just be in the way. By this point, Jensen was almost dragging her along.

"What are the chances of actually pulling this off?" the Ambassador asked.

"You know, Mother," she replied. "I have a good friend at the FBI who could probably tell you the statistical probability down to thousandths of a percent, and right now I'm glad he's not here."

"Beats having no chance at all," Jensen commented. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," he added hastily, grabbing at Emily's shoulder, as she nearly slid off of him and staggered face-forward into the ground. The uselessness of her right leg was no longer the only problem causing her to lose balance. Her moment of panic-induced clarity was wearing off, and she was quickly growing disoriented again, no longer able to suppress waves of dizziness and nausea.

"Just slow down and concentrate," Jensen urged. "One foot in front of the other. There you go."

At this point it was all she could do to keep going. Left foot. Then right side, supported by Jensen. Left foot. Right side. Left foot. Right side. Everything else was tuned out. Her mother's frantic urging. The panicked mutterings of the Embassy staff. Even the loud crashes she soon heard coming from behind barely registered. She didn't know if the tunnel had collapsed or the mob had broken through. Quite frankly, she was getting too tired to care.

Left foot. Right side. Left foot. Right side.

The monotony was finally broken by a sudden glimmer of light. For a brief instant, Emily's had no idea of the source, then she heard a welcome voice.

"INTERPOL! INTERPOL! Don't panic!"

It was Polizzi. They'd found the way out.

A few seconds later, she felt herself being hoisted off of Jensen's shoulder into the grip of an even stronger person.

"Prentiss, what happened?" Polizzi asked.

"Our son of a bitch Colonel shot her," Jensen remarked.

"The commander of the security base…he was behind all this," Emily muttered, barely audible. "He was the one coordinating with people on the inside…And…um."

"Stop talking, you can explain later," Polizzi insisted. "I've got a couple of Egyptian military Jeeps waiting outside, we need to get you to a hospital."

"I'm coming with you," the Elizabeth insisted.

"I'm assuming you're the Ambassador?" Polizzi grunted, as he and Jensen strained to lift Emily out of the tunnel.

"Yes."

"Alright, but we need to go now."

Emily snapped her eyes shut as a burst of light from a street lamp struck her face. Polizzi and Jensen had gotten her out of the tunnel and her loading her into the back seat of a vehicle. It was now after sunset, but after wandering in the dark of the tunnel, even the soft lights of the streets were disorienting.

"Ambassador, you can get in the front," Polizzi said.

"Hospital, now!" he commanded the driver in Arabic. Emily felt the car speed away. Every bump in the road causing pain to rack her body.

"Emily!" he then said, looking down in alarm at her bruised face and tightly-sealed eyes.

She snapped her eyes open briefly, only to quickly squeeze them back shut. The light was too much.

"Emily, I know the light hurts your eyes, but I need you to look at me," he said.

Slowly she peeled her eyes back open. Her vision was blurred, but she could make out his soft brown eyes gazing intently into hers.

"There you go, good. Just keep concentrating," he urged. "Can you talk to me? Just say anything."

Trapped in a haze, Emily struggled to think of any words.

"For God's sake Emily, say something!" Elizabeth nearly shrieked from the front of the car.

Finally, she managed to blurt out the first thing that came to her mind.

"Polizzi, are you speaking English?"

"Yeah. Yes I am." he said, with a slight grin. The relief on his face was palpable.

"You've had me speaking Italian all day," she muttered. "What the hell?"

"Clyde said you were fluent, and English is my third language, so I figured Italian would be easier."

"It's like my fourth."

"Okay, now you're just showing off," he smiled at her. But the smile quickly faded as he saw her gaze begin to falter.

"Prentiss, come on now. Look at me," he said sternly.

She tried to reply, but all she managed was an inaudible muttering. She was too tired. God, she was so tired. She tried to hold his gaze, but he slid out of focus. Here eyelids fluttered, then shut.

…

As the hours crept towards late afternoon and then into early evening, the conference room at the BAU remained early quiet. The team was still gathered around a phone that had fallen silent hours ago. None of them had been home for at least a day and a half. And none of them planned on leaving anytime soon.

The television had long since been turned off. The news channels weren't going to report anything that the FBI did not hear first. Continuing to watch as the Embassy compound was overrun and parts of it torched was just a slow form of torture.

Blake, Rossi, and Garcia had long since fallen asleep in their chairs. Garcia's glasses halfway down her face. Hotch was tucked in the corner on his cellphone, talking quietly to Jack. After pacing frantically for nearly an hour, was now ostensibly doing a crossword puzzle, but his pencil hadn't move for at least half an hour. His mind was miles away. Both Derek and JJ gazed intently at the ground.

"What are you thinking?" JJ asked Derek. She knew she was a stupid question, but she was desperate to do anything to break the silence.

"Honestly?" Derek sighed. "I'm thinking about sitting in a hospital emergency room three years ago waiting to find out if Prentiss was alive. And how I never thought I could feel so helpless in my life. And how I feel just as helpless right now."

JJ immediately regretted asking. Her role in covering up Emily's disappearance was a sore spot she'd strenuously avoided mentioning.

But Derek had long since buried the hatchet.

"You know, JJ," he said. "I know you felt it too. You may have known the truth sooner then we did, but you and Hotch still had to wait at first. And even then, you didn't know if she'd ever come back, or God forbid if she'd ever be found out. In a lot of ways you had less closure than we did."

"And Will," Reid added suddenly, his trance broken. "When he was hurt in the bank robbery you didn't know if he'd made it out."

"Yeah," JJ sighed. "God, this really sucks."

"Yes it does," Derek agreed.

Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by the beeping of the phone.

Blake, Rossi, and Garcia jerked out of their sleep. Hotch hastily ended his conversation with Jack. Morgan scrambled to switch on the speakerphone.

"Prentiss?" he asked upon answering.

"Yes," a distressed and somewhat familiar voice answered, "but probably not the one you were hoping for."

"Ambassador," Hotch spoke up. "This is Agent Hotchner. Where are you, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, thank you," she answered faintly. "We're at Dar Al Fouad Hospital in Cairo. At least most of us are. Two of the soldiers haven't been seen. I'm not sure if they made even made it out."

"Ambassador," Hotch asked firmly. "Where is Emily?"

"She's here."

"Is she alright?" he pressed.

"I don't know."

…

Emily awoke to find herself in a strange room. She furiously rubbed at her eyes, trying to remember where she was and how she'd gotten there. For a moment, she could only draw a blank. Then it all came flooding back to her. Her mother. The Embassy. The rioters. The Colonel. Funny, though. She'd expected that her face and hip would still be hurting a lot more than this. In fact, they didn't hurt at all.

It took Emily a minute to realize she wasn't alone. At first, the appearance of the man startled her, but her nerves calmed as soon as she recognized him. She wasn't sure who she'd expected to see, but it certainly wasn't him. It had been a long time since she last peered into that steely blue gaze.

"You did well, Emily," he said. "I'm proud of you. But then again I always have been. Even if I never told you enough."

"Dad?"

_And, on that nasty little cliffhanger, we end Chapter 7. Two pieces of good news. First, Chapter 8 is on the way. Second, I think it's only going to take a couple of more chapters to wrap this thing up. (Bonus: Third, for those of us in Canada and the States, Prentiss is back on CM for the 200__th__ Episode in ONE WEEK! Not…that…um…I'm excited about that or anything.)_

'_Til then, comments/reviews/suggestions are appreciated as always. A few of you have been kind enough to point out a few little missteps I made here and there, either in the reviews or via direct message. I appreciate you letting me know so I can fix them! I promise, a soon as I notice them they drive me twice as crazy as they drive you._

_Thanks for reading!_


	8. Going Home

_Back at it with Chapter 8. This is another long chapter with heavy dialogue, but it is going to be the second-to-last and I didn't want to break it up into two short shots. Sadly there's only a brief mention of the team in this chapter. I couldn't really find a way to shoehorn them in. Fret not, at least one of them will be back in a prominent way next time._

_Thank you all once again for the feedback. I have to confess to taking perverse pleasure in the nerves and apparent confusion the end of the last chapter caused. However, unlike the meanies on Criminal Minds, I do not believe in making people wait two weeks for a resolution. Hopefully the ensuing chapter explains all. _

_Enjoy! _

Light flooded her field of vision. She couldn't make out anything. It was too hazy, too blurry. But there was definitely light. And noise. A grating, high-pitched noise. Where was that sound coming from? Where was he? Hell, where was _she_? And why the hell did she hurt so much?

It was the sudden increase in the frequency of bleeps from the heart monitor that first drew Polizzi's attention. His momentary relief at seeing her awake flooded away when her saw her face. She was wide-eyed, panicking.

"Hey, hey, hey. Prentiss. Prentiss," he said, scrambling to her side. "It's alright. It's alright. Look at me."

He might as well have been talking to a wall. She continued frantically thrashing around. He knew he needed to stop her before she hurt herself. She'd almost knocked the oxygen tube out of her nose as it was.

"Prentiss, look at me," he demanded loudly. Technically she outranked him, but he didn't think that mattered all that much at the moment. He succeeded in getting through to her. She met his gaze, and began to settle down.

"Polizzi?" she finally asked, her groggy voice barely above a murmur.

"That's right," he said, relief flooding his face. "Just relax. You're okay."

He set his hand on her shoulder, gently pushing her back down against pillow. The muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed as she allowed him to guide her back down.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Dar Al Fouad Hospital. Still in Cairo. It's nighttime. You've been out for almost 24 hours. Do you remember what happened?" He assumed she did, since she seemed to remember who he was, but habit prompted him to ask anyway.

"I decided to skip work and break into my Mother's office," she quipped.

"That's one way of putting it," he laughed.

"Is she okay?" Emily asked seriously.

"Who? Your mother? Yes, she's fine," he answered. "She's been in here most of the day, but I think she's downstairs getting something to eat. They treated her for exhaustion when we first came in, but otherwise she's doing well. In much better shape than you are."

"What's the verdict?"

"On you? The shot nicked your external iliac artery," he answered. "The bullet was still inside when we brought you in, which probably saved your life, because it apparently it actually plugged some the bleeding."

"If it had gone clean through I would have bled out and been a goner," Emily deduced.

"Precisely. Somebody was looking out for you." Polizzi confirmed. "Part of your hip is fractured, they put some screws in to hold it together. No weight on it for 2 to 3 months."

"Great," she scoffed.

"And you also had a concussion and a fractured cheek bone courtesy of one Mr. Jensen, I believe. He still feels quite badly about it. I took the liberty of telling him it was probably the least pressing of your problems."

"I think that's a fair statement."

"I have to say, even though your reputation preceded you before I met you, I'm still impressed," he said admiringly. "I've been thinking about taking a desk job for a year or two now, and I've never dealt with anything this insane. I can't think of anybody else who can pull off what you pulled."

"I had some help," she answered. "I couldn't have done this without you. You probably saved my life at the end there. I owe you one."

"I think we've both been in this business long enough to know better than to keep score," he answered kindly. "Anyway, I'm just glad you're awake and coherent. You had me worried when you first woke up there. You looked as if you'd seen a ghost."

"It felt like I did," Emily commented. She wasn't sure why she was telling Polizzi this, but she felt an urgent need to talk to somebody about it. Elizabeth was out of the question, and for some reason, Emily instinctively felt she could trust this man, even though she barely knew him.

"I had a dream about my father," she explained, staring furtively at her hands. "It's a long story, but he died a few years ago while I was undercover. I couldn't be there when he went, and I've carried around all of this guilt over it. In my dream I tried to tell him I was sorry, but he wouldn't let me. He told me it wasn't my fault. And he just kept telling me to go back, to go home."

"I don't know that all means, but it felt so real," her voice trailed off.

When she glanced back up at Polizzi, she saw that he was studying her intently.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure it was a dream?" he asked cautiously.

"What do you mean am I sure?" she questioned, not following him at all. "Of course I am, what else could it be?"

"Well, I, uh, didn't want to have to be the one to tell you this," he swallowed. "But, when you first went into surgery they…they lost you for a minute or so."

He gazed at her with a mixture of pity and anxiety, clearly feeling guilty about causing her extra distress and fearing how she would react.

"Again?" she finally managed softly.

Whatever Polizzi had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that.

"Again?" he asked, wide-eyed. "What do you mean again?"

"Never mind. Again, long story," she said, holding up her hand in an effort to get him to drop the subject. Emily could tell he was tempted to ask her more about it, but he respected her wishes and didn't press anymore. She was thankful. She had enough to process without re-hashing more painful and confusing memories. She pulled herself upright, lifting her hands to her head and rubbing furiously at her brow, trying to make sense of what she'd seen and what Polizzi had told her.

"So you don't think it was a dream?" she asked after a moment.

"I don't know," he replied. "There are a lot of things in this world I can't begin to understand, and I believe a lot of things I'll never be able to prove or fully explain, but I believe it's a distinct possibility that you saw your father, and he sent you back because he knew it wasn't your time. That your race was not yet run."

Emily stared at him blankly.

"I've studied human psychology for years," she replied. "I know more about the way our minds work then I ever wanted to. And I know that the most logical and probable explanation is that, in the middle of trauma, I either dreamed or hallucinated about the things that have subconsciously been bothering me the most."

"And yet you're not actually sure that's what happened, are you?" Polizzi observed astutely.

Damn he was sharp. He was also right, and it was making Emily uncomfortable. Polizzi could sense this, and looked genuinely apologetic as he recused himself from the room.

"I, uh, I should go get your Mother," he said. "She'll want to know you're awake and alright."

As he left the room, Emily threw her head back against the pillow, deep in thought. Was it possible that Polizzi was right? Had she truly seen her father? Emily was hesitant to embrace the possibility. It would be taking the easy way out. Relieving herself of her guilt by choosing to believe that her father truly had spoken to her and told her she'd done nothing wrong. To Emily that seemed like mere wishful thinking, embracing a fantastical story to make herself feel better when the more likely explanation was that it was all in her head, a trick played by a traumatized brain working in overdrive.

On the other hand, Emily couldn't pretend she didn't believe in the afterlife, or at least that there was _something _going on after the end. For much of her adult life, she had resolutely avoided thinking about the subject, but when she'd coded in the ambulance the night Doyle stabbed her, she could avoid it no longer. She definitely experienced something. She wasn't quite sure what. She just remembered it was cold and dark and unnerving. And she knew her experience wasn't a one-off anomaly. Reid too, she knew, had experienced something when his heart momentarily stopped at the hands of Tobias Hankel. He was firmly convinced that he'd felt a warmth and saw a light, and Reid tended to be even more committed to logical analysis and empirical proof than Emily was.

So perhaps it was true. Maybe the experience _could_ change. Maybe her father did understand and there indeed was a better future waiting for her. The truth was, she didn't know, and until it finally _was _her time – whenever that turned out to be – she never would. Besides, Emily couldn't bear thinking about all of this much longer anyway. The anxiety and strain was making her head hurt, and her hip and face were causing her enough pain as it was.

Mercifully, her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing in the doorway.

"Hey," Emily said upon seeing the Ambassador.

"May I come in?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, of course. Have a seat," Emily insisted, using her heavily-taped IV-laden hand to indicate a at the bedside.

When Elizabeth sat down, Emily was shocked by her appearance. Her faced looked drawn, with deep shadows under her eyes. Emily had seen her mother distressed before, but the Ambassador always maintained her composure. Now she appeared almost completely despondent. It was a new look on her. One Emily did not like.

"Are you alright?" Emily interrogated.

"I think I will be," Elizabeth replied, not willing to entirely confess to her state of distress, but also not bothering to lie. "This has all just been quite the ordeal. But I'll get through it. How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse, but I've also been better," Emily answered truthfully. "How are all of the others?"

"Most of them are okay. The staff are shaken up, of course, but they'll be alright. Four of the six soldiers made it out okay. They regrouped and went back in to look for the others. They found Richards. He broke his leg when the tunnel collapsed, but he's going to recover. Rogers didn't make it. They don't know if it was the rioters or friendly fire in the confusion that got him."

"Dammit," Emily swore, closing her eyes and clinching her fists.

"Emily, there was nothing you could do," Elizabeth insisted. "We're lucky any of us lived. Every single person in that building would have died if you hadn't shown up."

Logically, Emily knew what her mother said was true, but that didn't make swallowing the news of the courageous Sergeant's death any easier.

"He had a wife and two boys," Emily sighed.

"Yes. How on Earth did you know that?"

"He had a tan line on his ring finger," Emily observed. "That could have just meant he was recently widowed or divorced, but he also wore a thick chain around his neck. My guess is he wore his ring on it so he didn't lose it while he was working. He also had the names Trevor and Michael written on the brim of his helmet. Those must be his sons."

"You noticed all of that?" Elizabeth responded incredulously.

"It's my job to notice those things," Emily replied. "I just feel so terrible for his family. Even though I'm sure they knew he had a dangerous job, nothing ever prepares a family for that."

Emily couldn't help but think of the far too numerous examples of families of law enforcement officials the BAU team met over the years, having to tell them that their police officer husband and father or sheriff's deputy wife and daughter wasn't coming home. To her surprise, Elizabeth let loose a sardonic snigger.

"What's so funny?" Emily demanded.

"Nothing," Elizabeth answered. "It's just ironic, that's all."

"I'm not following you," Emily replied.

Elizabeth sighed, internally debating whether to continue. Emily could tell that whatever her mother was thinking about was something she'd kept buried for a long time. Before Emily could say anything else, her mother began rambling.

"Emily, it's obviously no secret that I was never a great mother," Elizabeth confessed. "Richard and I both wanted a child. Always intended on it. But we also both had fast-developing careers we intended on keeping. Even though we knew that would keep the two of us living apart most of the time. So when we had you, we didn't know what we were getting into. We decided that it would be best if you stayed with me. Your father was constantly traveling, and even though my assignments changed with the political winds, I at least tended to stay in the same place for a few years at a time. We thought you'd be more stable, more secure, better educated if you stayed with me. We wanted what was best for you. We really did. But we didn't make you enough of a priority. I didn't make you enough of a priority. I always treated you like just one thing on my agenda to deal with. One important thing to be sure, but not the single most important thing, which is what I should have done. I think Richard and I both realized we had no idea what we were doing becoming parents. We never talked about having another child, we just silently agreed not to and that we would do the best we could for you."

"You did fi…" Emily began.

"Emily, don't lie to me," Elizabeth cut her off abruptly. The ambassador always hated being interrupted, and now it bothered her more than ever. She wanted to get something off of her chest and was not about to let Emily stop her.

"We did not do fine," she continued. "We tried to do what we thought was best. We sent you to good schools, tried to introduce you to children from other families. But we didn't do enough in our own family. And you resented me for it. I know you did. It wasn't a secret. And you were right. But you turned out well despite it all. Of course you rebelled – I knew about the cigarettes by the way – but you were a bright student and a hard worker. You won a scholarship to Yale. Then on to graduate school at Georgetown. I was intensely proud of you. I managed to excuse my failings as a parent by trying to convince myself that I had something to do with your success, and by convincing myself that once you were an adult and had a life and career of you own, I would reach out and we'd come to an understanding. Maybe we would never be friends, but at least we could get along. Respect one another."

"I did always respect you," Emily insisted. This time it wasn't a lie. Emily had been angry at her mother for a very long time. But she had always recognized her talent and her hard work.

Elizabeth didn't snap at Emily this time, so Emily took the risk of venturing a little farther.

"Why didn't you ever say anything to me?" she asked. "And what does this have to do with what I said about Rogers' family?"

"I never said anything because of what you chose to do," Elizabeth answered. "I hoped that after you graduated you would go into academia, or the foreign service, or an administrative career track. I didn't know exactly what you did get into Emily and I still don't, but I knew enough about how the government operates to put it together. A vague-sounding position at the Department of Defense. No talk about your work. Traveling all the time, sometimes for months on end. Calling your father and I even less frequently than you normally did. I knew whatever you were doing was dangerous and might get you killed. It didn't get any better when you went to the FBI. Then I did know what you did – you chased down some of the sickest people in the country. Just another thing that might get you hurt or killed. Getting close to you meant that I would also worry about you all the time. And if I didn't get close to you, it wouldn't hurt if I lost you. Then I did lose you – or at least I thought I did – and it still hurt. A lot. When I found out I hadn't, I felt relieved, but I also felt betrayed. And I was angry that you went back to the FBI. Angry that after all of that you went right back to constantly sticking your neck on the line, without any regard for yourself or what it's like for the people who care about you. I used that anger as an excuse not to reach out. As justification for putting the onus on you to make that first call."

Emily finally put together what her mother was getting at. Her mother had avoided getting close to her as an adult because she didn't want to be one of those families who lived in fear of losing a loved one. Her pathological fear of making herself vulnerable led her to keep her emotional distance from Emily.

"And I never did," Emily said guiltily. "I just used my anger at you as my own excuse."

"None of this is an excuse," the Ambassador replied. "Just an explanation. I'm not excusing what I did. Besides, you _did _reach out, Emily. You came here."

"I wouldn't call that _reaching out_ exactly," Emily countered. "It was a little bit different from calling you up and asking you out for lunch."

"Well what would you call it then?"

Emily thought for a moment.

"I don't know. I just know I didn't want it to end that way. I always intended to call you, but I don't know when I would have done it, if ever," she admitted. "I just knew I couldn't stand there and watch that door slam shut."

"I thought it might have last night," her mother answered softly. Emily could see Elizabeth was on the verge of getting emotional. She reached out her hand and closed it around the Ambassador's wrist.

"It didn't," she reminded her mother. "We're both still here. We've got another shot."

"Lunch when we finally get the hell out of here?" she added hopefully.

"I'm buying," the Ambassador insisted, finally cracking a smile.

"For once, I'm not going to argue with you."

…

_Four Days Later_

After finally managing to get herself changed, Emily hobbled her way out of the bathroom. She was getting much more adept at navigating around using crutches, which was good considering that was how she was going to spend the next few months.

She took the opportunity to examine herself in the mirror hanging on door to her room. She had to admit she looked a pretty sore sight. She'd lost several pounds in just a few days and it showed on her face. Her clothes were also less than flattering. Realizing the clothes she wore the day she came in were a blood-soaked mess, Polizzi had been thoughtful enough to run out and find her something more comfortable to wear. The snap-on jogging pants were actually a good idea. They were the right size and much easier to change into than would have been the case with a regular pair. The Egyptian National Soccer Team sweatshirt (Football Team – Emily reminded herself internally – not unlike Clyde, Polizzi had given her a tremendous amount of shit when she said soccer), on the other hand, was too large and swallowed her slender frame. That was the drawback of letting a man do the shopping.

On the bright side, the bruising on her face was much improved. The discoloration was beginning to fade and the swelling had gone down. Emily thought a few more days and some solid food would help her regain her strength and improve her somewhat gaunt appearance, then she'd just have to wait for that damn hip to heal.

She was looking forward to getting back home to London. The doctors has barred her from flying for a few weeks, but Clyde had arranged for them to travel back to Europe by a chartered boat then take a private rail car to London. The Ambassador would be traveling with them. The U.S. government wanted to recall her to Washington immediately, but Elizabeth resolutely insisted on making sure Emily got settled back in London before she returned to the United States. According to Morgan and JJ, the Ambassador had apparently threatened to spill the beans to the international media about the fact that the attack on the Embassy had been coordinated by a member of the U.S. military and _not _a riot spun out of control as the official story stated. She was immediately given extra time to return home.

As Emily double-checked her bag to make sure her Glock was packed and unloaded, Polizzi rapped on the door.

"Phone call for you," he said, handing her his own cell phone.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Easter. He said he tried your phone but it went straight to voice mail."

"Battery's dead," Emily observed, pulling her own phone out of her bag. "Are our rides here yet?"

"I was just on my way down to check," Polizzi answered, handing her his phone. Emily eased herself into a sitting position on the bed before accepting it.

"Hello Clyde," she said, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello darling," he said with his typical bright sarcasm. "How are we today?"

"My heart's breaking at the thought of leaving Egypt," she quipped. "Seriously though, I'm hoping we'll be on our way out of here within the next hour or two."

"About bloody time you get back here," he continued to tease her. "I'm sick of doing your paperwork. By the way, you have a hiring decision to make when you get back. You're down an intelligence analyst."

"What? Why?" she asked.

"Steven Perry's mother-in-law has cancer. He and his wife are moving back to Toronto. He got a job offer that he had to act on immediately. I told him to go."

"Alright," Emily replied. She was disappointed to hear it. Perry had been a bit of a dullard, but he was a good man and reliable agent. "I'll start thinking about it once we get underway. You have any minimum threshold qualifications I need to know about?"

"They have to speak English and put up with you. Don't you think that's hard enough?"

"Very funny, Clyde."

"Honestly, Em, just worry about getting back home. The rest of it can wait. Call me when you get to the Continent. And charge your bloody phone, will you?"

"Thanks Clyde."

"Bye, darling."

Shortly after Emily ended the call, Polizzi came back into the room.

"Everything good to go?" she asked.

"Yep," he confirmed. "Your mother's getting her bags downstairs. I came up to grab yours."

"Thank you, again," Emily said. "And thank you for not telling my mother anything I said about my dad," she added. "I think it's a little more than she wants to handle right now."

"Your secret's safe with me, Prentiss," he promised.

"I still can't believe I told you," she remarked. "Nothing personal," she added hastily. "I just really don't know you all that well."

"Fair enough. Maybe we'll have to work on that," he smiled slyly.

That gave Emily an idea.

"Hey, how serious were you about taking a desk job?"

"Pretty serious. Why?" he asked.

"How do you like London?"

_That's all for Chapter 8. The story wraps up in the next chapter, most of which I wrote several days ago. It just needs some fine-tuning and will be up soon. _

_I hope you enjoyed! Thoughts/comments/reviews are welcome as ever!_


	9. Epilogue: Ten Months Later

_Author's Note: Here is our finale. This was not how I originally intended on ending the story, but this little ending scenario popped in my head a couple of weeks ago. I wrote it then and after going back and forth about it several times, I decided to keep it with a few minor adjustments. _

_I just want to say thank you once more for the great response to this story. I must admit, I've grown strongly attached to this storyline and the characters involved, so it's hard to end it. I may do a few related one-shots in the future if the inspiration strikes. Until then, I hope you enjoy the end:_

After finally, mercifully passing through the Border Patrol checkpoint, Emily made a beeline for the baggage claim. No matter how many cross-Atlantic flights she made, she was always unbelievably irritated at the amount of time it took to pass through American security. And she carried a U.S Passport. She shuddered to think what a pain it would be in the non-citizen line. The fact that the airport was packed with travelers during the run-up to Christmas did nothing to help. She didn't know why the State Department couldn't wait until January to hold the gala for her Mother.

She raced down the terminal as fast as she could manage against the crowd and the protest of her screaming hip. She was sure that her ride was growing tired of waiting for her. He had to have been standing around at least an hour. Sure enough, as she reached the baggage carousel for British Airways Flight 202, Derek Morgan was there waiting for her. Still wearing that black leather jacket he loved so much. Emily couldn't believe he was wearing it when it was this cold out. According to the pilot, it was well below freezing when the plane landed. She herself was already wrapped in a black pea coat in anticipation of the cold.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow your roll, Prentiss," he said, sticking his hand up. "It's all good. I've grabbed your bag already."

"Oh, thanks," she said, clearly relieved at having already cleared the last hurdle to getting out of National Airport. "I'm sorry I've kept you waiting. Security is such a nightmare."

"Will you just shut your pie hole and bring it in here," he said, holding out his arms.

The two embraced tightly, seemingly trying to make up for the months and miles of separation in one fell swoop. Emily guessed she'd share five similar hugs in the coming days.

"I'm parked pretty close," Morgan said. "Let me carry your bag. You're still walking a little gingerly on that hip, I notice."

Emily didn't fight him.

"Thanks. Being on a flight that long was a real pain in the ass."

"I thought you've been flying again for a little bit," Morgan replied.

"I have," she confirmed. "But only within Europe, and only on the INTERPOL jet where I can get up and move around. Transatlantic commercial flights are a whole different story. And it still doesn't feel a hundred percent on the ground. Even after all that awful physical therapy, I'm not healing as fast as I used to. Must be getting old."

"Hey, watch it Prentiss," Morgan cautioned light-heartedly. "Derek Morgan still considers himself a young buck."

"Yeah, well, you are younger than me," she reminded him.

"By less than four years, and I don't need you shattering my self-image."

"Yeah, JJ said you were a real baby about the whole turning 40 thing."

"JJ has no room to talk, she and Garcia harassed me for a week. And you know she's going to throw an absolute fit when it's her turn here soon."

"Oh I'm sure she will," Emily conceded. "Have fun with that one."

"Oh. Hey. Hey. Hey. Stop. Here we are," Derek said, indicating a shiny black pickup that Emily had blown past in the parking lot.

"You get a new ride?" she asked.

"Yeah. Just a couple of months ago. I've still got my baby. But the old girl's got some miles on her. I just use her for hauling and construction now. Hop in."

Emily hoisted herself into the passenger's seat while Derek placed her bag in the back of the cabin. A few minutes later they were out of the maze of a parking lot and onto the highway.

"Thanks for taking me to meet my mother for dinner," Emily said. "I'm sure it's not at the top of your to-do list on a Monday night."

"Nah, don't mention it," Derek insisted. "We all actually have the next couple of days off. Just got back from a long case in Portland. I think most of us are just going to parlay it into a long Christmas vacation if we can get away with it. Don't forget we're all going out to the bar on Friday night."

"When have I _ever _forgotten a night at the bar with you guys?" Emily asked.

"Fair point," Derek answered. "So, what night is State having your mom's retirement dinner?"

"Wednesday," Emily answered. "It's still hard to believe she's calling it a career. It's all she's known for over forty years."

"Well, we all have to hang it up sometime," Derek observed. "She have any plans for what to do next?"

"I don't know what her long-term plans are, but for now she's going to start guest-teaching for the international relations program at Georgetown. I pity her students. I know _I _wouldn't want to sit that exam."

"You know, Blake's adjunct professor at Georgetown," Derek commented. "She teaches linguistics. Reid helps out sometimes."

"Well, for Blake's sake I hope they don't run into each other at a faculty mixer," Emily said.

"I thought you were getting along with your mom now," Derek said.

"I am," Emily confirmed. "At least better than I ever have. And she seems really happy about the big news. But just because we're getting along now doesn't mean I have to pretend she can't sometimes be a pain in the ass."

Derek laughed. Emily smiled. It was true that her relationship with her mother was getting better. Piece-by-piece. A lunch in London here. A phone call there. Emily knew they would never be as close as Derek was with his mother or JJ with hers. There were too many years of distance to cover. But things were getting better. Still, as the pair drew closer to the exit to the restaurant, Emily couldn't help but grow a little bit uneasy. Even now, Emily had always gotten slight pit in her stomach at the thought of meeting with the Ambassador. The pit was shallower now, but it was still there.

Plus, it would be the first time they met face-to-face since the big announcement. Even though the Ambassador approved over the phone, Emily was nervous at the prospect of talking about in-person. She supposed this was natural. Still, it was hard to suppress the anxiety. She started biting her nails before catching herself and stopping A few seconds later, she absentmindedly began fiddling nervously with the thin, platinum, channel-set band on her left ring finger.

"Stop playing with that, Emily," Derek demanded. "I do not want to have to get out in fifteen-degree weather do dig for your engagement ring in my truck."

"Sorry," Emily commented, stopping herself. "I guess I just feel a little bit weird talking to my Mother about this face-to-face."

"I can understand that," Derek agreed.

"So," he asked, "how pissed was Easter when he found out he was going to have to find _another _intelligence analyst in London because the one he'd just hired fell for the office chief?"

"He wasn't worried about that," Emily answered. "Finding a new intelligence analyst was technically my problem. He was worried that _I'd _be the one to leave and he'd be stuck with finding a new office head who could put up with him without pissing him off too much. He was pretty relieved when we decided that Victor would take the Scotland Yard job and I'd stay at INTERPOL. Sergio was the bigger pain. He pooped in Vic's shoe the first two times he came over."

"Now I believe that," Derek replied, laughing. "Not to hate on your cat, Prentiss, but I remember that thing being a real devious little bastard when Garcia took him in."

"Well, I think he's finally settled down and gotten used to the idea," Emily said.

"I'm not going to lie, Prentiss, I'm super stoked about this wedding. Italy in the spring is going to be awesome. You better believe I'll be getting in some quality beach time. Those flights are expensive as hell though."

"I'm sure you could get Rossi to pay for it if you nagged enough."

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea," Morgan concluded. "He's way, way too excited about you marrying an Italian guy. Wouldn't shut up about it for the longest time. Honestly, I think he's a little miffed that you aren't changing your last name to Polizzi."

"If I was in my twenties I might think differently about it," Emily admitted. "But I'm 44. I think I'm pretty much set as a Prentiss.

"Rossi of all people shouldn't talk anyway," Morgan noted. "All of the women who married him ended up wishing they hadn't changed theirs."

The two friends shared another laugh, until Emily's jovial mood was interrupted by a passing road sign.

"Hey! You missed the exit!" she said suddenly as Derek sped by the turn-off to the restaurant where Emily was to meet her mother and instead continued along the highway.

"No, I didn't," Derek answered calmly. "I called your mom a few hours ago. You're not meeting her tonight. You're meeting her tomorrow. Tonight, we're going to Rossi's. He's having his big Christmas party, and you promised Garcia you would come."

"God, I forgot about that," Emily said. "That was like ten months ago."

"Well Baby Girl did not forget," Morgan observed. "And unless INTERPOL has you hooked up with some hellacious computer security, I would not want to upset Penelope Garcia if I were you."

"Oh heck no," Emily replied. "As long as my mother's not going to throw a fit about it, I'm all in."

"Good," Derek answered. "Because I happen to know there is a whole team of FBI agents waiting to see you there. Plus, Derek Morgan cannot show up to a Christmas party without a date, and you, Emily Prentiss, are not a married woman yet."

_And there we have it. Like I said, this wasn't my intended ending when I started, but I realized that, looking back both at my old stories and most of the plotlines on Criminal Minds, Prentiss never really gets a happy ending, so I decided to quit being a sourpuss and give her one for a change. Again, I might come back to this universe in the future, but there are also other story ideas I want to explore soon as well. _

_One final time, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope everyone watching enjoys Episode 200 this week!_


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